Some Enchanted Evening
by RandyyMack
Summary: He was a man who had no memory of his past and no heart for a future. She was a woman who wanted to build a future without a man and wanted to keep her heart in the past. But on one starlight evening, its hard not to become Cinderella.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** I wouldn't call this a period piece though it is set in the 1800s and that time period does have much influence on this fic. But I believe that this is more of a fairytale. This is just the prologue, hope you enjoy.

**Some Enchanted Evening- Prologue**

_ First, it is one rain drop that falls. Then, of course, another has to fall as well. Then another hundred must fall, because it wouldn't make sense for them not to. Then the sky opens up, suddenly dropping all the water it can on the small island of England._

By then, no one is safe from the cold splashes of wetness. The water will hit every square inch of England it can. And what falls must land, it won't stay suspended forever. 

She turned to her family, the two people she loved the most, and smiled, watching as the relief pooled into their old, aging faces. She tried to blink back the tears that were forcing their way to the brim of her eyes. She was determined to stay grinning. Those concerned eyes of the people she loved would never stop assessing her body language, not as long as she lived and she couldn't let them down.

If one tear fell, then all would fall and they would see that she was actually vulnerable. They would stop her plans, feed on her doubts, and convince her to stay though she couldn't. It was wrong to burden them any longer. She would send herself to exile and live with people she knew but still felt were strangers. It was time for a change; it was time for life to become something other than an enchanted dream.

_ There is one way to be sure you are safe from the rain. You could be one of those people inside a house, one with a big, warm family and caring friends to fill your rainy days with entertainment and joy. The menacing clouds would clear away from you, eventually too tired of trying to make someone so content miserable. They'd realize that all the bad that they'd drop on you would somehow find a way to turn into good. _

"You, Sir, are fine," the doctor said as he examined his patient. He widened one of the young man's eyes between his impersonal fingers, peering closely into the blue eye, noting the dilated black pupil then doing the same to the other one. "But I guess you won't be remembering much."

"What won't I be remembering," his patient creased his brow and asked. The doctor paused and scratched his head. He wasn't a particularly good doctor. How would he be expected to give the young man all the details of his condition? Course, he'd seen a case like this before, in his youth, when he practiced under his father. The man in that case had suffered a head injury and when he woke up; he didn't remember anything about his family. He didn't act, to them, the way he was supposed to and he rebelled against his own family so completely that he severed their relation and became a new man with a new life.

This would be the same with this man. But from what the doctor could tell, the man didn't have any family. He only had the kind heart of the Duke of Wyndemere, who wanted him well because he was injured saving the young marquees. This case wouldn't be as heartbreaking as the last one which meant the news wouldn't be taken too gravely. What luck, the doctor thought and smiled to the young, irrelevant man.

"You won't remember a thing from you past, sir. You might possibly remember maybe a few things here and there. Like possibly, how things are supposed to smell. The natural order of certain things," he paused dramatically, "but I doubt your memory will ever return to you. You will never be the same gentleman you were before."

_ Even in the face of thunder and lighting, you will laugh and lift your child to the sky, risk getting hit by burning bolts of lightning. The gray will part for your laughter. The gray will part for your sheer joy of life. It will be tingled by your happiness, annoyed with your smile, angered with your teasing tears of love and happiness. _

"You're quiet," the doctor frowned. So the man wasn't taking the news well. He was grieving though he had no memory of substance to mourn. "Are you confused about anything," he waited cautiously, terrified of an outburst, "Young man?"

"Yes. About one thing," the man spoke softly, pain dripping over his eyes, shattering them. "Who am I?"

_ Like searching for the bright sun in a day of shielding gray clouds, happiness has to be found. And one could get lost in the gray fluff, being blinded all the time by sadness. One's happiness is behind the bumping clouds, the shattering thunder, the disorienting lightening. Fools waste their time searching through that. To be smart, you must realize that you are your own great ball of suspended fire, and what the clouds blind you from are the people staring up at you from ground._

I believe it is not "reach for the sky". It's find a way to realize "you are already flying". 

_-Lady Elizabeth (1860) _


	2. Chapter 1

**Some Enchanted Evening Chapter1 **

_"I hide myself, not because I'm scared. it's the only thing that will guarantee my freedom. "- Lady Elizabeth_

Sarah Webber sat by her parlor window and watched as hundreds of raindrops fell from the sky and bounced off the dirty cobblestone streets of London. How aggravating the rain could be, she thought and sighed heavily. Supposedly, that water from the sky was meant to wet the earth to nourish it so living things, like flowers and crops, would grow and keep making people rich and humans sustaining life. Sadly, that theory was completely mistaken since, of course, Lady Sarah knew of a better one.

The creator was angry with her! He was angry that she hadn't done charity and that she hadn't helped some misguided soul. He wanted her to drown in raindrops for her sins and selfishness!

But where could she find some poor creature that needed her influence on a day like this! One would have to be crazy to venture out in such an insane state of weather, especially, someone like Sarah who had such an enjoyment of fashion, and wore delightful gowns and expensive jewelry and heavenly extravagant headdresses that would cause angels to cry if they were to be destroyed by rain.

It took many hours of the morning to perfect the perfection that she held herself to be. And she had no intention of ruining that perfection with wet unreasonable weather. God should understand why she was unable to wet the hair that took so long to put into unimaginable coiffures. In fact, the way it was styled this morning made her look more charitable as well as beautiful. That should have counted towards something.

She sighed again, looking out the window longingly. The clouds on the other side of the pane looked menacing and were depositing heavier drops of unpurified water against the glass by the second. She would have to do her penance on another day. One, preferably, where it was not raining, or foggy, or hot, or too sunny where the sun would be in a position to blind her, or cold, or snowing, or windy, and definitely not cloudy. However it was most unfortunate that someone would miss out on being touched by her influence.

Her duty to god was to aid other woman into becoming as perfect as she was. She took great pleasure in helping the ugly become...tolerable— and the sharper tongued become cute and ditzy. She helped the independent minded become more dependent on the ways of man and taught women fashion and fashion-art and how to answer questions vaguely enough that a man would eat his arm off, begging for her true answers.

She, Lady Sarah, was a helper of woman. She helped them find husbands, something all women desired! It was the kindest thing any human could ever do and was the least she could do before she left all the men of nobility in the marriage market unattended for a Prince of some large wealthy European country.

It would be sad to leave it all. Her life in England had been rather extraordinary as well. Her parents had tragically died when she was very young. Luckily, her father had a male child, Stephen, who became next in line to be to the title their father would never wear. Stephen had inherited quite a sum of money as well and never really being too fond of the country or their grandparents, left to pursue a life in town. Sarah joined him after, as soon as she was able to work her shiny dissembling blue eyes on her Grandfather.

Living with Stephen gave her freedom. He paid to have whatever she wanted taken care of so that he wouldn't have to parent her and she in turn took care of his house and maintained his social calendars. It was a system; one they've grown accustomed to and one she kind of loved.

Her younger sister Elizabeth hadn't come with them after their parents died so she hadn't been able to enjoy the same freedoms. She had stayed with their grandparents at Hasterberry Hall and Sarah rarely ever saw her except for a few occasions like Christmas. Soon, it turned into not seeing Elizabeth at all. They became separated and grew and aged differently, positively and negatively.

And then Elizabeth was sent to live with them and begin her search for a proper noble husband which Steven would have to oversee. The difference in age between Sarah and Elizabeth wasn't much, only five years. Elizabeth was almost seventeen and Sarah…well, a lady never discloses her age. But the difference in the years they last saw each other left more to expectation and little to accurate memory.

When Sarah left, she was eight-years-old and Elizabeth had just celebrated her third birthday. It was late in the year, November, when the ground was cold and carpeted in leaves. Then all had speculated Elizabeth would grow to become some great beauty, one that topped all the rest of the Hardy women in the line. In the past, that might have been true. She used to have soft little brown curls that fell off her shoulders and bounced when she crawled quickly. At times, the curls would curve around her chubby face, so dark compared to her moonlight paleness. She had looked absolutely adorable then.

Sarah remembered her bright dresses and the exotic flowers that her mother dressed in her hair with their big brilliant colored petals that would ignite the blue flames of her eyes. Their eyes were the same shade of blue yet Elizabeth's would blaze bright and burn into passionate shades, melting into warm pools of rich cobalt whenever she was excited or determined. And Sarah's never changed; they were just nice dark lakes of blue that went well with her smile and her evening dresses.

Elizabeth had been loved like an angel by everyone. Their parents had worshiped her, expected so much success to come out of her, even at such a young age.

But in their years apart, things had changed and so had the two beautiful sisters' faces. Sarah pulled her gaze away from the window and turned to the rest of the parlor. Elizabeth was sitting on the velvet canapé, her refugee—no- her "maid", Carly, stood behind her, watching as she knitted. All her attention was focused on the task, her pale fingers worked in frenzies to get the task done quickly as well as perfectly. Sarah's eyes involuntarily moved over her attire as she worked and she sickened, so disappointed in what her sister was wearing.

Blood relatives of Lady Sarah Webber shouldn't have acted the way her sister did. Elizabeth didn't grow well living under their grandparent's roof, Sarah could tell. She was quiet and reserved, she obeyed all orders she was given by anyone of any class. She never smiled, never wore bright colors like she used to when she was young, only grays and blacks. She would read a lot, her powdered nose was always in the books- and OH how her nose was powdered! It was like the ground after a fallen snow! She wore tons of face dust, making her already pale skin whiter and turning her complexion into one of a corpse. The powder would stick to the soft curls of her forehead, the only hairs that managed to escape the extremely tight buns she wore every day. She looked old, aged beyond her years. The pince-nez she wore a great deal of the time didn't help matters either. They were large and sat on the bridge of her nose in a way that made her look more like a horse than an actual human.

To some, she was a spinster. And to a few she blended in well with her surroundings and people were positively grateful that she did her best not to be seen. But to most, and soon to all the men in the marriage mart and even to her very own sister, she was absolutely hideous.

"Lizzie, Darling" Sarah smiled at her slyly.

Elizabeth peeked around her knitting and tried not to let her breath become agitated; Sarah always noticed and whined about her not caring. She quickened the pace of her fingers to work faster to finish the row so she wouldn't be displaced after being interrupted. "Yes, Sarah," she asked slowly as she ended the stitches of the cloth. Sighing happily when she was finished, she set it aside to give Sarah her full attention. "What is it?"

She had been at Webber House only for a few weeks and in that time she hadn't really spoken with Sarah except for when she was being chastised. Sarah was an incredibly busy woman, supposedly. She ran Steven's household - which meant shopping and decorating and firing servants. In all of her imaginations, she never would have speculated that Sarah, of all people, would have grown to be so elegant. But there she was, sitting in the same room as her, as rigidly perfect as a queen perched in front of the window. She wore a light pastel gown that didn't match the conditions of the horrible weather but was still extremely fashionable for the season. She looked flawless for society… like real English born, English Lady.

"Never mind," Sarah muttered and looked away, pretending as though what was on her mind was unimportant so Elizabeth would probe for details.

Elizabeth pinned her with a curious gaze while Carly rolled her eyes, annoyed that Elizabeth could fall for Sarah's tricks so easily when all the other servants saw them so quickly. Carly had no care for Sarah the way other people did. She never noticed when Sarah was speaking with her, didn't mind being punished in defiance of her and truly hated how Sarah treated her dear Lady Elizabeth.

"Obviously something distresses you, Sarah," Elizabeth said after Sarah huffed three deep attention grabbing sighs. "Please tell me what it is?"

"Yes please," Carly muttered, her accent too thick and fast for Sarah's understanding but perfect for Elizabeth's. "So that she can stop that moaning before I-"

Elizabeth shot a warning at Carly that stopped her before she went too far which she often did. She turned back to Sarah and giving her an encouraging smile, inquired, "What's bothering you?"

Sarah grinned, her lips curving delightedly, and stood, crossing the rug to take a seat beside Elizabeth. Carly blew out an inpatient breath and went to re-arrange the despicable bouquet of flowers sitting on the piano, hoping that that would be far enough to not have to listen to Sarah's pitiful tale.

"I'm not so sure you would care," she whined and pouted her lips, "But-"

Carly snorted rudely and laughed, interrupting Sarah from finishing. Both she and Elizabeth turned to give Carly a reproving frown and she quieted and went back to re-arranging the flowers so the sisters could carry on with their conversation. Unfortunately, she would never be far enough away to be barred from hearing Sarah's dilemma.

Sarah stifled a growl and eyed Elizabeth, motioning to her to do something about her disrespectful employee. "Lizzie, that maid is a poor choice of employment on your part. What were you ever thinking? How do you plan on managing a household if_"

Elizabeth nodded grimly. Carly watched her lady as she ran a quick wipe underneath the vase that held the flowers to make sure no stray petals stayed on the polished piano.

Elizabeth would never yell at her, that she knew. They were friends; they loved each other even if Carly should know her place. But would she start now that she was under Sarah's teachings?

"Sarah, I'm sorry for Carly. She doesn't understand a lot about English society." She looked to Carly and Carly smiled, happy that her Lady did not find Sarah to be her new influence. "Now, tell me about what was bothering you before. That is really my greatest concern since we are blood."

"Oh right," Sarah exclaimed. "Something truly has been bothering me."

"Good."

"Good?"

"Not good that you're upset," Elizabeth explained exasperated. "Good that you are telling me." She smiled. The room grew quiet. "So… what is it?"

Sarah's dark blue eyes trailed around the room as she sighed. Elizabeth watched her carefully, already knowing what was coming. "Well, it's about your husband," she blurted out finally.

"Oh, god," Elizabeth muttered and looked to her lap. Carly tried not to grin.

"See," Sarah whined and shot up, her dress rustling behind her. "I told you! You never care!"

"Of course I don't," Elizabeth said. "I have no husband to trouble you, Sarah. Therefore, I find this matter foolish"

"Foolish? Foolish, Lizzie? All of your prospective suitors are real men, made of-"

"Lies, Sarah. What suitors?"

"Not lies. There are suitors and you'll meet them soon after your debut," Sarah shook her head and began to pace about the room as she thought. "Most of the gentleman I found for you are quite porky." She gave Elizabeth an assessing look then put a dainty finger to her chin "And if you're not a careful and firm wife, who makes sure not to indulge in their gluttony, it's quite possible that they might starve you to death by eating all in the house and leaving none for you."

"Really," Elizabeth muttered, her eyes slanting as she held her breath, praying that laughter wouldn't erupt from her and give her away. "Then when will these porky men come to call on me?"

Sarah stopped her pacing and gave a devilish grin. "Soon! Their heaviness inhibits their walking. They might not be able to attend many balls either. But soon they'll see a reason to, you, once we've worked on that blessed frown that is always so present on your face. It can be very intimidating, don't you know."

"Yes, Yes," Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "I'm defective goods. I know, I know."

"Defective," Sarah puzzled. "Lizzie, just because you're half blind and terribly scrawny and….," she refrained herself from saying ugly as sin. "…And a whole bunch of other things doesn't mean there isn't someone in the world for you. I'll find you a husband but you have to cooperate."

"I'm sure you're-"

"Liz," She frowned. "I know you're insecure but have you not heard the story of the ugly duckling?"

It took all Elizabeth had not to throw her head back and bark with laughter. "No, Sarah," she somehow got out. "I have not."

"Well," Sarah sighed. "I guess I must tell you since it will help you immensely with your current situation." She took a seat beside Elizabeth and took her hand. After clearing her throat, she began.

"The tale of the ugly duckling, which in no way relates to me but is perfect for," She stumbled as she looked in Elizabeth's earnest eyes through the lens of her pince-nez. "….ah…you. If you'll understand, is the story of a duck that was born hideous." She paused for effect, "I mean really hideous and not just from the birthing blood-"

"Ducks are hatched, Sarah," Elizabeth corrected. "From eggs. There would be no birthing blood."

"Oh," Sarah digested this new fact then made a face. Elizabeth and Carly continued to stifle their laughter. "Well that just makes it much worse for the poor ducks mother! Anyway, all the other ducks around boasted and swatted their tail feathers at the ugly duck and her ugly droopy nose. Until the day she met a duck much worse than her own in visage and after meeting her, realized that there are ducks much uglier than her in the world and so she started to see herself as beautiful and developed into a swan," Sarah sighed. "Well at least in her delusional eyes. I mean really! Something so ugly just cannot be fixed! But that's not the point of the story."

"Then what is the point," Elizabeth asked.

"The point is that I want you to find a husband to boost your confidence. So the man won't be handsome and he won't be what you dreamed of," Sarah waved a hand and scoffed. "But you'll be happy and that's all I want." She patted the hard surface of Elizabeth's hair and smiled cheerfully.

"Some women don't need a man to be happy," Elizabeth offered.

"Please," Sarah cried and laughed. "You're in my care now and after all these years of not seeing you and not being able to be your true big sister, this is my chance to make up for it."

"Of course Sarah," Elizabeth gave in. "You can find me a husband."

"Of course! I do love to hear those words," She leaped up and skipped to the window to see if it was still raining. So she hadn't missed her quota today. She was helping a soul, a very important one at that. She looked through the glass to the sky to see a light shining through thin clouds. She smiled. "Once you're married, Lizzie, and in good care, I'll move on and start my own life."

"But you're the older sister, Sarah," She said nonchalantly as she went back to her knitting. "Why is it that you haven't married first?"

"I was waiting for you," Sarah told her and turned with a reminiscent smile. "I still remember all the little things I wanted to do with you when we were children but then Mother died..and Gram's couldn't handle all of us and Steven needed a woman to look after him, so I came to stay with him. You know, to see to it that he grieved properly. But then I fell in love with London, I couldn't go back, only you could come! And now you did! You're here! And when you're settled and betrothed, that's when I'll start shifting through my grand amount of suitors and settle down. But not a moment before! Okay?"

Sarah shocked even Carly. There was true care in her eyes. It transformed her, making her look real, human.

"O-Okay," Elizabeth said quietly. Sarah went back to gazing out the window of the parlor, fascinated with the outside. Elizabeth feeling guilty set her knitting aside and left the parlor without notice. She started up the stairs when Carly came through the doorway.

"My Lady," her maid called. Elizabeth paused and turned to her slowly, like a child caught stealing candy. "My Lady," Carly called again, sounding testy now and taping her foot.

"What, Carly," Elizabeth groaned and slumped back down the steps. She took her arm and led her across the entry way to a place she knew they wouldn't be overheard.

"She means to find you a husband," Carly whispered tersely.

"I know."

"Then why bother with this disguise, if you going to let in exceptions," Carly asked in a hushed cry. Elizabeth sighed, slouching her shoulders.

Carly usually always understood her motives and Elizabeth could generally understand hers. Carly had been with her since she was a young girl. Elizabeth had found her in the woods one day near Hasterberry Hall. She had sat on a large tree stoop, looking sullen as the sun shined through the branches, reflecting off her long blonde ringlets and making her tan skin glow. Elizabeth, on a childish afternoon adventure, had carefully and quietly stepped over the branches in the woods, watching from afar as she cried. Carly had looked like a sad wood nymph that day; her white muslin gown filthy and torn, her hands and feet grubby.

It was the first time Elizabeth had seen such poverty and she couldn't stomach it. From her position in the woods, she quickly and clumsily launched herself closer to Carly, not the least bit frightened of mysterious girl. Her step had cracked a branch, startling Carly, who looked up at her with water filled light grey-blue eyes. Elizabeth didn't say a word; she hadn't wanted to embarrass Carly. She simply held her hand out, waiting for Carly to take it, and the second she did, her tears stopped and life returned to her eyes.

You could tell from the look of Carly that she wasn't English. Her skin wasn't the usual pale; it was much darker and more exotic. She didn't know a word of English when Elizabeth had found her. She spoke an exotic tongue that Elizabeth had never heard or known of but eventually learned the language.

She'd been Elizabeth's paid companion first and had been her only friend at Hasterberry Hall. But soon, Carly outgrew her position, since she was a few years older and had begun taking over in preparing Elizabeth for the day, setting her hair and mending dresses but she didn't do much else besides that. She wasn't the greatest maid in the world, that was for sure, but Elizabeth had never thought to fire her or even look for a replacement. Carly was far too important to her to ever loose.

"Half of the men Sarah will pick for me won't want me for my looks, Carly," she snorted. "They'll be easy to ride off.

"Easy... to... ride... off," Carly repeated slowly. "Easy! You'll say this at the wedding!"

"Shh," Elizabeth reminded her to keep her voice low. "It is really important to her to marry me off. You can obviously tell-"

"Stuff! That girl is excellent at making emotions appear at the right moment!"

"It's a little detour, Carly," Elizabeth said. "But whatever Sarah thinks is going to happen won't work. I promise. They'll never be able to marry me off."

"I understand that is what you want my Lady and I will aid you even if I completely disagree."

Elizabeth smiled. "Well I'm grateful."

"And you should be! So don't mess it up," Carly growled. Elizabeth slashed the maid with her eyes. "I'd advise you not to glare, my lady. It worsens your looks….if that's possible."

Elizabeth tried not to smile as Carly marched off. Even in her very elaborate disguise, she always had trouble containing her true emotions. She found herself quickly, taking her haughty stance and that menacing frown again and moved along. She'd get what she wanted eventually. That she promised herself.


	3. Chapter 2

**Some Enchanted Evening: Chapter 2**

_"A disguise is much more than a mask. It's an act. You devote yourself to it. You become it. And the audience will never see your deception._" -Lady Elizabeth

After a few days of walking and mostly tripping over things and hitting his already injured head, he'd come to the realization that he was a large man. He was a tall one, with broad shoulders and lots of strength. He'd wish he'd learned about this sooner that way slim doorways and weak windows wouldn't take him by surprise. Being in bed for days on end did nothing to help him learn this sooner. He had needed to be spoon fed for a while, feeling so weak that he could barely lift a spoon to his lips.

He wasn't too familiar with this place, not the bed, not the people that helped him, not even the language they spoke. He knew English though; he just knew somehow that he wasn't used to hearing it. He was never called anything. Not a person he'd met had called him by a name. They all called him sir and good man and mister. So now all he knew was that he didn't have a name, he was a big man, and he couldn't remember a single thing from his past and it made him angry.

"Mr. Morgan," a man called cheerfully. He turned, wiping his anger away and hiding his clenched fist, to see a tall, lean dark haired man beaming at him, adorned in an emerald dressing gown and tan trousers. He returned the smile awkwardly, still angry about his situation and having no idea who this man was and if that was even his real name.

The man walked to where he was, in the middle of the library, and held out his hand. He stuck his chest out proudly, his head high. "I'm Nikolas Cassidine, the Duke of Wyndemere."

Suddenly, he remembered hearing the whole story from his doctor. It rushed back to him quickly and he understood who this man was and who's home he was in.

"How is your son," he asked as he shook the man's hand.

"Spencer's fine," Cassidine replied, his cheerful expression turning grim. "Thanks to you."

"I- I didn't do anything special. Not anything any other ordinary citizen wouldn't do."

Cassidine chuckled then and moved to take a seat in one of the comfy beige upholstered chairs surrounding the dark wooden table filled with piles of newspapers, melted wax candles and books. Cassidine motioned for him to take a seat as well and he did so.

He looked around for a moment, saw that every wall in the room was covered with shelves filled to the brim with books. There were three levels to this room, each filled with dusty old manuscripts of wisdom. He wondered if anyone had ever read every one of those books since none looked like they'd been used in a long time. But a few did look worn, marking someone in the house's personal favorite.

He looked back to the Duke and noticed the man unabashedly staring at him, noting his every move and motion and he tensed.

"Can you read," Cassidine asked curiously.

"Yes I can," he answered with a strangled kindness, not liking that this stranger kept staring at him and asking questions based on observation. It was like he was being tested or experimented on.

"Well that is good. This library can be of use to you whenever you'd like."

So he expected him to stay long? This man could have been an enemy! He knew nothing about him except that he had done the man a great deed and lost every damned memory in the process.

"That isn't necessary," he declined.

Cassidine chuckled again and flashed a grin. "I'd heard from the servants that you are a man who takes no appraisal for your heroic actions so I'm prepared. But I would like you to know how grateful I am and how sorry I am that this happened to you."

"I-I," he stammered.

"Just say, 'You're Welcome', please so that my mind can relax."

"You're welcome," He muttered. "You Grace, right?"

"No, No," Cassidine shook his head profoundly. "A lot of people in this country stress title, but I'm not one of them."

His brows drew into a line across his forehead. "Then why are you a Duke if you don't want people to name you correctly?"

Cassidine chuckled and propped his head on a bent elbow. "It's something I'm born with."

The line only creased more. "Can't you say no if you don't like it?"

"No. You cannot." Nikolas smiled politely then asked, "Who told you I was a Duke?"

"One of the women," he recalled. "The red head that helped me dress. She speaks a lot."

lit in Cassidine's eyes. "That must be Bobbie. She's very nurturing; been with my family for many years."

That prompted his next question. "How long have you been a Duke?"

"Since I was 22, I'm 28 now."

"So 6 years," he calculated.

"Precisely," Nikolas nodded, happy that his son's savior hadn't lost his complete memory. He wondered if that was a sign of improvement or something one never forgot. He remembered lessons in math, how they drilled it so thoroughly into the pupil's minds. No, he thought. One couldn't forget math.

"Do you like it," Mr. Morgan asked.

"I suppose I do," Nikolas sighed. "There is a few burdens and limits but I do enjoy being wealthy and supporting my family."

"So you're rich? That's what being a Duke means?"

Nikolas smiled. The ranks of society and their individual details was quite a daunting task to explain to one who remembered nothing of it. He was quite proud of his title, worked hard to keep it meaning something. It was his responsibility to his father and even more to his son. "The men in my family who have held my position have worked incredibly hard for me to be so. But yes, I am well off."

"Must be nice," he commented. Nikolas couldn't help but grin.

"It is."

"So who are you to me?"

Nikolas grew serious. "I've never met you before in my life."

"But I risked myself for you," he posed, his expression deeply confused. "I saved your son."

"I know, You were generous, risking yourself for my small son."

"I wonder why I did it?"

Nikolas dark eyes fell to the table, his chest heaving with hurt. "Yes well," he changed the subject. "The doctor tells me your injury has made you suffer worse than I feared."

"He told me this as well. It wasn't good news…what he said, was it?"

"No," Nikolas spoke grimly. "It's not."

After seeing Mr. Morgan, Dr. Jones had entered his study to deliver the verdict. Nikolas didn't care too much for Dr. Jones, in fact, he was pretty sure the man never truly knew what he was talking about. But Dr. Jones seemed sure then when he told Nikolas that Mr. Morgan had suffered too much damage to the head to ever recollect his past. It had wrenched him; deep inside, that he and his family had cost this person his life.  
His son, Spencer, had always been free to roam Spoon Island; the same way Nikolas had been when he was a boy. But Spencer was still very young and still very careless and while on the beach, had been pulled into the ocean by the tide. He hadn't seen Mr. Morgan jump in to save him, he had only heard from his wife that their son was in trouble and needed their help. When arrived to the beach, he swung off his horse, a crowd of servants behind him, and he saw them there, floating, the waves high and merciless as it thrashed them about. But by some miracle, he and the servants had been able to pull them both out and to safety.

"This all must be very confusing for you."

"Yes," he conceded. "That's why I'd like to know…Do you know who I am?"

"No, no I don't," Nikolas said. He frowned, wishing he could offer the man some better news.

"But you called me by a name. You were the first to call me a name! And I can't remember my own."

"Well," he started then paused. What he remembered from that day was blurred into bits of frenzy. "When my men and I pulled out of the water, you were just fading into uncons-ciousness. I didn't hear much from you that was clear, but I did make out that your name was Jason Morgan." Nikolas cast a sympathetic smile. "I'm not entirely sure if that is the correct pronunciation however."

"Because you and I don't talk alike," he concluded.

"Yes, we don't." Nikolas had also noted this.

Mr. Morgan spoke very clean English, never stumbling, but he did have a thick accent that crept into certain words, changing the sounds. Still it was nothing hindering and Nikolas understood him well. It just created more of a mystery around the man, knowing that he wasn't from Britain.

"So," he started to piece together, "You're a stranger."

"Yes."

"Everyone in this house is a stranger?"

"Yes."

"And now everyone in this country's a stranger."

Nikolas frowned. "Saving my son has cost you much. You don't know how-"

"If you're going to apologize again, save it. Your son deserved a chance at life too."

"He's only five, my son." Nikolas told him.

Jason nodded. "I'd like to meet him."

"As well you should," Nikolas leaned back into the chair, sighing. He liked this man and was glad that he didn't regret saving his only child's life. "Spencer is the only child I'll ever have with my Barren Lady Courtney being so….barren. And though you don't remember saving him, Mr. Morgan, you are a hero."

"Yes, Well." Jason shifted uncomfortably.

"My Barren Lady Courtney considers you a hero as well but she considers any creature with a stick dangling between their legs a hero." He rolled his eyes. "Anyway, she would like to throw you a ball."

"A ball?"

"Yes."

"What's that," his brows crumpled again. This seemed to be a permanent expression with him.

"A formal gathering," Nikolas explained. "People come together to dance and celebrate."

"What have we got to celebrate?"

"Spencer being alive I suppose, though My Barren Lady Courtney doesn't care much for him," Nikolas spoke nonchalantly, "And you being my hero."

"I don't know if I've ever been to a ball," he confided.

Nikolas grinned as he imagined this blonde brute on the dance floor. "My Barren Lady Courtney and I would be honored to throw you your first."

"I don't know if I'm so good around people," he sighed. "I kept snapping at all the people you have helping me. They never leave me alone. I think I hurt their feelings."

"That happens sometimes," Nikolas waved off.

"Well I don't think I really deserve-"

"Of course you deserve it," Nikolas cut in, quite defensive when it came to people depreciating the great deed this man did for him. "For a man to jump into strange waters, risking everything he has to save the son of a father whose legs weren't fast enough to reach him in time, and to actually lose all he risked is more noble than you can imagine. You entered those waters, knowing who you were and while saving my son, you unexpectedly came out a new person!"

The room was silent after Cassidine's speech, and Jason didn't know how to reply to the lecture.

"Well," Jason finally spoke, feeling that he had no choice, no matter how much he argued. "I'd like to attend."

Cassidine smiled. "Good."

Jason smiled back and pushed up from the table and stood tall. He looked down to Cassidine, puzzled once again. "How many balls do you think I've attend in my lifetime?"

Cassidine regarded his question for a moment. "Quite a few. You've got a fine horse and the clothes we found you in were of decent quality. If you aren't a nobleman, I'd say you're a wealthy merchant."

Jason chuckled. "Or a thief."

"Now, Now," Cassidine chuckled. He stood from his chair. "A thief wouldn't be able to read and write," he commented then paused for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I think this ball will be themed to ease your worries of meeting people." He sighed happily. "And mine."

"What are your worries?"

"That I'll have to dance with my Barren Lady Courtney."

Jason grinned. "Why do you keep calling her that? Isn't that a mouth full?"

"Of course it is, but what is the truth if not a mouthful?"

They both moved from their separate sides of the table and joined together as they headed towards the exit.

"Anyways," Nikolas said. "I'm sure My Barren Lady Courtney will be quite excited to compromise your English Society virtue once I tell her you've agreed."

Jason shot him an odd glance but Nikolas grinned and placed a hand on the taller man's back as he opened the heavy brass door to the library.

"Ah," Nikolas chuckled. "Indeed, a frightened look for a scary premonition. I think you and I, Jason, are becoming good friends."

Jason nodded. "I think, quite possibly, Cassidine, that you're the first."

"HOW'S LIFE SPORTING you, Webber," Lord Patrick Drake asked as he took another sip of his brandy and ignored his wife's sharp daggers from across the room.

Though they weren't celebrating anything festive that night, the list of guest for dinner had become much larger than it had been for the past couple of weeks. Steven had invited his close friends and neighbors, the Earl of Ritroburgh and the Earl of Sacrel, to join him and his sisters for an informal dinner. He hadn't seen either of his neighbors for a while since he'd been busy settling pressing matters and now that Elizabeth was here, he felt he should introduce her to some of his friends and their wives. He had expected Sarah to set things like this up but she hadn't for some reason. So taking matters into his own hands, he set dinner up, hoping everything would go alright.

"Life has been well," Steven replied and looked over his shoulder. He too felt the lightening-like daggers Lady Robin was shooting at Sacrel as the two men stood beside the brandy cart.

"So you've been ignoring me because life has been peachy," Patrick asked, raising a coal eyebrow exaggeratedly high.

"No, I've been ignoring you because I'm dealing with some new investments which are bit on the delicate side and need all of my attention."

"Delicate? Anything you need help with?"

"No, no," Steven shook his head. "But I see that you need some help. Put the brandy down before your wife sets your head on fire."

Steven and Patrick turned then, catching quite a scary sight; Patrick's lovely wife Robin, standing stiff with her arms folded across her chest, her dark auburn brows dipped in a menacing glare that would make a thief drop his knife in seconds and Steven his glass of brandy. Patrick sighed and they both turned back around, both setting their glasses back on the cart.

"You come home foxed in the middle of the day once and they never trust you again," Patrick scowled.

Steven laughed, remembering that day since he had been present and a strong participant. That old man, Ritroburgh, had found them, drowned and flopping, at the club in the middle of the afternoon and dragged them home. Thankfully, Steven didn't have a wife that would pull his hairs about these kinds of things for decades and he wasn't too sure he ever would.

"Steven," he heard someone cry in a high pitch squeal. He sighed, rolled his eyes, knowing his sister was about to make an extreme and elaborate entrance. "You neglected to tell me we were having guest for dinner," Sarah cried and suddenly appeared in the doorway, dressed perfectly in fact for the occasion in her pale chiffon evening gown and lace net shawl.

He somehow refrained from rolling his eyes though it killed him inside. He knew how much people loved Sarah, even his married friends still made fools of themselves in her company. And while he loved her, she was the sibling that took more after him in looks, them both being fair headed and long faced; she was nothing like him in personality. Far from company, Sarah was sometimes a major brat, course that was probably his fault. She hadn't always been but in recent years he had been forced to watch as men tripped over themselves and leaped endless bounds to make Sarah happy when in the end she would only be ungrateful.

Steven found Elizabeth to be the much kinder sister, though he hadn't known her long. He believed she was the one who deserved more praise, more attention. It was true in the recent years she hadn't turned out as he'd expected but she was still a rare gem, one that should be thoroughly appreciated.

"Hello lovely friends," Sarah sang, throwing her shawl over her shoulder and flitting about the room, greeting everyone, turning all into a puddle of mush. "A great night to have everyone here," she cried. "This," she motioned to Elizabeth, "Is Lady Elizabeth."

Steven added, "My youngest sister."

The room broke into silence, and then just as suddenly started buzzing. He noticed Ritroburgh and Sacrel shooting each other surprised glances.

"She's your sister too then, Lady Sarah," Lady Sacrel asked.

"Yes, Yes," Sarah deflected, flicking her wrist. "Something like that."

Elizabeth looked up then, frowning. She hadn't planned on ever being introduced to anyone Steven or Sarah knew. It was one thing for her to look the way she did for her own advantages but it also felt like she embarrassed her family for looking this way. Society was nasty and shallow and of course she used this to her advantage. But there were some women that looked like her disguise naturally who would lock themselves inside their rooms all day trying to better themselves to get a chance.

It wasn't that Elizabeth had never dreamed of having a dashing husband and a loving family, or a spring wedding with close friends in the country. It was just that those dreams had been chased from her mind by reality and she knew that a life alone was what was best for her and she'd do anything to have it.

"Hello everyone," she said politely but kept her lashes lowered. "I'm Elizabeth."

"Well hello Lady Elizabeth! I'm Lady Ritroburgh or better yet, Skye," a tall red headed lady spoke politely. "Um, that's a lovely grey on you."

"Thank you," Elizabeth murmured with a curtsey.

"I hope you all haven't been waiting long," Sarah interrupted, taking back over the scene. "Had Steven told us we had guest, we would have been down here sooner."

"We haven't been waiting long," Patrick reassured.

"At any rate," Steven cut in. "Can we move forth into the dining room?"

"Honestly Steven," Sarah huffed. "You could at least compliment us on our attire before you rush things." She shot him a withering glare.

The corner of his mouth hiked. "You'd like us all to starve?"

"No, No, my lord. Please let us move forth," Lady Skye said quickly.

They all moved into the dining hall, Sarah almost stomping in, as angry as she was to have Lady Ritroburgh undermine her. She took a seat across from Lord Ritroburgh as Elizabeth settled into a seat next to Steven. She watched them; realizing Steven was another one, like Lady Ritroburgh who favored Elizabeth over her. Lady Ritroburgh had never complimented Sarah the way she had Elizabeth's dreary gown. She watched Steven stick his tongue out at Elizabeth, making her giggle, almost prettily, a cute crease appearing in her pale cheek as she smiled. Annoyed, she turned away to flirt with Lord Ritroburgh, passing out a dainty grin and batting her long blonde eyelashes and wrinkling her nose when she received a sheepish one from him.

"How was your day, Lizzie," Steven asked

"Good," She mumbled. "I uh... lost to Sarah in chess."

"Really?" Ritroburgh shot Sarah a surprised glance as he listened to Steven and Elizabeth's conversation. "Lady Sarah, you play chess?"

"Yes, I do," Sarah replied proudly. "And I murder my opponents if I may add."

Elizabeth held herself together as she saw the gleam in Sarah's eye. Oh how she wished she could laugh. It was more work trying to loose on purpose to Sarah than it would have been beating her. Every time Elizabeth swore Sarah would take the opportunity and win, she never did, instead closing it and opening it up to Elizabeth again.

"Well, you know what they say," Ritroburgh recited. "A lady that does well in games does well in life."

"And tell us, Lord Ritroburgh," Lady Skye snorted. "Which famous scholar wrote that?"

Sarah sighed. "I find playing Elizabeth rather tedious. I always win; you see, it's unfortunate and doesn't challenge me enough to be beneficial." She shrugged. "But there's never been a time in this family when a little sibling has surpassed her elders at anything, poor Elizabeth.'

Elizabeth returned to her frown. "Yes, indeed." Poor Elizabeth.

The food was brought out finally as half a dozen footmen entered, all carrying silver platters on their shoulders. Elizabeth was glad since this meant less talking.

"It smells delicious, my lord!" Lady Skye commented. Others nodded as the smells of dinner permeated the air.

"Lizzie's cook came with her from Hansberry and she's magnificent. My own cook has handed over the reins in the kitchen in hopes he might be taught something," Steven said fondly.

All eyes fell on her again and she tensed. She always squirmed when people looked at her closely, wondering if there was something wrong with her disguise or if they expected something of her.

"You know, I've already been served a meal today," She said, hoping to switch the attention back to Sarah, who would take it and run with it in strides. "A great meal of defeat at the hands of Sarah."

All in the room laughed as they pressed Sarah for details on the game and for other hidden talents she had.  
Steven sighed inwardly as the conversation centered on the "diamond" of England society once again, wishing people would see that she in-fact was just that, a cold and shiny diamond. Nothing more.


	4. Chapter 3

**Some Enchanted Evening Chapter 3**

_"There are those who have a purpose. And there are those who have split purposes. Those who have split purposes, choose between two roads. Two mask._"

It was another day of his new life…or well the life that he was now remembering. It was a warm day, the sky was a vibrant blue, no clouds, only a light breeze that gently rustled the trees and barely threatened the day. The sun was high and beaming in the center of the sky. Everyone was cheerful and happy and preoccupied. Everyone except for him, he was the only one that had absolutely nothing to do.

It wasn't that he couldn't go outside; he could, his wounds had healed enough and he no longer needed to wear bandages. And he could walk on his own again without a cane or getting dizzy. In fact, he was outside with everyone else, enjoying the day and the chirps and crows of nature. But everyone else seemed to be so much busier than him. Each person had a purpose. Each person he watched walk across the lawns, marched aggressively with determination, and all he was doing was sitting under an oak tree, twiddling his thumbs and hiding in the shade so he wouldn't get in the way.

There was only one person that caused a big commotion as they crossed the lawn that morning. It was a woman, with extravagant yellow hair. She'd been heading towards the stables in a riding habit, a swarm of servants at her heels, each servant offering her something different, with eager hopes to please her, waiting on her every whim, hand and foot. But nothing seemed to satisfy the lady as he could tell by her deep frowns and yelling.

The group traveled slowly across the green and with many dramatics. With every pause came more shouting or a body would be shoved to the ground. When they would continue, the desperate sounds of begging arose. He watched with absolute curiosity, his subject, a wealthy woman who had servants working themselves to dust to preserve that image. When the group was finally close enough to where he sat, he was able to hear what all the commotion was about.

"Listen," the Lady snapped. She whipped herself around and held up a blind finger. She was a beautiful woman; pale with rosy cheeks and thick blonde hair. It was piled high on top of her head under a bright pink hat. He could see her bright silver eyes, though a harsh color, as they flashed like the blade of a sword, glaring at all the people that surrounded her.

"I am going on my morning ride and if any of you fools are stupid enough to stop me, you won't have a job here tomorrow," she threatened.

Her glare traveled throughout the group, making every one of her servants hold their protest. He really couldn't tell who she was as she was swept up in the crowd. But from the servants' treatment of her and the glamour and wealth of her riding outfit, he thought, this could quite possibly be the Lady of the house, his lovely hostess, The Barren Lady Courtney.

"But Mama," he heard a small voice whimper. He couldn't see who it came from.

Her eyes lowered and she snarled. "Go away, Spencer! If you want to go riding, do it on your own horse, by yourself!"

"My lady, the young master is too little to ride and still too weak from his accident," a wrinkled, scrawny old man told her. He was dressed poorly, in filthy ripped rags. And his back was hunched, making it unable for him to stand tall.

Silence followed the man's speech for a moment, one he thought, meant a positive outcome. But it was only the calm before the storm. Shades of dark red passed through the lady's face before she finally exploded.

"I do not know when everyone decided that it would be I who now deals with Spencer," she shouted and gritted her teeth at the old man, indignant.

She took two steps towards him and the man instantly fell onto his back, covering his face with his arms to protect himself as though she were a monster.

"I," she roared, leaning forward. The old man still attempted to get away. A little girl quickly knelt beside him to take his elbow, helping him up and pulling him away from the fierce woman's attack.

A young brown haired boy appeared as the crowd dispersed, cleaner than most of the Cassidine servants, he also helped.

"I'm the one that has no power at all and what you ask for is unfair!" She gritted her teeth then pointed at the little boy. "Well if I'll be dealing with you, I tell you there will be change!" She straightened again and dusted herself off as though she'd been dirtied and took a deep breath, closing her lids. It was calm again for a moment as the young children righted the contorted old man. The man looked to the lady before smiling at the young boy in gratitude and moving away.

The lady took another deep breath and opened her eyes again, her eyes instantly moving to the young boy. She grabbed his hand and cleaned it with her skirts. "I'll tell you one thing, if you choose to ride with me, there's no way I'm going to spoil you the way the Duke has been! Oh no Spencer! The disadvantages of having a mother!"

Everyone was silent. The lady stared at the little boy, her breath rising and falling. She turned proceeding towards the stables. It was a moment before the servants scampered after her again.

Jason eyes moved back to the boy and the old man. He watched the man bow deeply at the feet of the boy. The boy shook his head viciously and patted the man's frail shoulder and held his hand out to shake the man's hand as he stood.

"Thank you very much for trying," the boy said quietly. "Please convey my thanks to everyone else."

"There's not a thing I wouldn't do for you, Young master," the man replied fondly and began to hobble towards the stables.

It grew silent again except for the more peaceful sounds of the day; birds chirping, bees humming and polite conversation. Jason closed his eyes again, putting his hands behind his head, and rested against the hard trunk of the oak tree. He wondered if he had a mother as cruel as that woman. Was she looking for him? Could he find her if he looked hard enough?

He sighed, knowing that if he had any purpose at all in the world, it would have to be in his past life. He would not find it now or here which meant, his current purpose was to find out his past. Of course that would be hard, and he would need help.

"Wretched mother," he heard a puny voice mutter. "The worst of them all," Jason cracked an eye open to see the young brown haired boy approaching the tree. He did not leave with the group, Jason realized, which made him respect the boy instantly.

Spencer moved closer to the tree, slowing by the outskirts of its shadow. Jason eyed him. He looked older than Jason had expected. His features were more for a man than a small boy. His hair was dark and shiny, almost black but very fine. His eyes were the same silver as his mothers, harsh, difficult to gaze into without flinching from their intensity. He stood proud, his shoulders stout and squared, his face grim magnified by a deep frown.

The boy stood there for a while, outside the shade of the tree, in the sun, his eyes cast to the ground, puzzled. His face seemed to age right before Jason's eyes. The wind rustled his hair and his clothing as it blew by. His shoulders began shaking suddenly, frantically, as Jason watched tears begin to pour from his eyes.

As time expanded, Spencer started to fade away and in his place he saw the back of another boy, much taller than Spencer, his hair the same kind of black, dark as night. The boy's clothes were ripped and torn; his shoulders were shaking as he looked down the ruins of corridor. Gold and grime was everywhere, there were splatters of blood, standing out like surrendering flags on white columns. The boy turned then, his expression brave, a sad smile on his face. "We'll be alright," he whispered. "I'll always protect you."

The words weren't in English, but he understood them. His trance ended and the present and Spencer returned. What had just happened? Was it a memory? Was he imagining things? Who was the boy?

"One day, I hope she goes away for good," he heard Spencer mutter to himself. Jason, shook off the shock of the daze, just enough to return his attention to the sniffling boy. Who protected Spencer, he wondered. And who protected the boy from his trance if he'd been protecting him?

"I hope you get your wish," Jason heaved. He hadn't realized he'd spoken out loud. His heart ached for the boy.

For all the time he'd been there, Spencer must not have seen him because he jumped, so frightened and embarrassed, and looked around startled. With exaggerated slowness, Jason stood. He still felt some pain in his head, especially when he changed elevations. He stepped out of the shadows and into the sunlight, revealing himself. Eyes wide, Spencer titled his head to look at him.

"Hello," Jason offered first. "I'm Jason."

Spencer looked away with a scowl and tucked both his thumbs beneath his blue suspenders. He cast his eyes across the greens, toward the barn.

"Good day, Sir," He muttered unpleasantly. His cheeks pinked and he was tense with annoyance. "I am glad to see you're awake. I'm Stefan Nikolossovich Cassidine. The boy you saved."

"Well I'm glad to be awake," Jason said, friendlily. "I don't like sitting in bed."

An awkward silence fell between them. Spencer's eyes stayed at the barn his mother had disappeared into. He could tell Spencer would not allow himself to look at him and that there was anger in his face. He had no desire to speak to Jason. Not even the desire to thank him.

Which was odd; Jason didn't like being thanked but he also didn't like being hated for no reason. Did Spencer know something that he didn't? Did he know him before the accident? Was he part of his past? "I thought your name was Spencer," Jason queried, hoping that something would strike gold and the awkwardness would leave.

"It's a nickname from my mother," Spencer responded tightly. "Only friends may call me so commonly."

"Oh," Jason murmured. "Then what do I call you?"

"Young Lord," Spencer bit out, and stiffly looked to Jason. A menacing glint flashed through his gray eyes. It was brutal and rubbed Jason raw. Betrayal flowed from Spencer's eyes, and hate, choking him with it. Jason was the one that had to look away this time.

"Tell me, Jason, are you one of my Mother's friends?" Spencer interrogated, with a speculating smirk. "I have never seen you before that day I almost drowned, and since you were conveniently there when I was drowning, I've assumed that you are possibly a man my mother cohorts with."

Jason lifted a brow. "I'm not," he answered, but he wasn't too sure if that was the truth.

Could he have been Lady Courtney's lover? Did she have lovers stashed away on the shores of Wyndemere, ready to save her son? It was a sad thing that Spencer knew his mother took lovers if she indeed had any. Children his age didn't need to know about all the bad in the world yet. That love didn't stay preserved for years,that people lied and cheated.

"Oh," Spencer breathed, his shoulders sagging with relief and the tension between the two of them leaving as another breeze rolled by. "Apologies then," Spencer held his hand out.

Jason took it, surprised by how firm the shake was.

"I am very thankful regardless," Spencer said. "I don't really know how to swim. Father said he will teach me when I am older but I'm sure he's changed his mind now."

"Yes," Jason chuckled. "Living on an island, knowing how to swim would be a good idea." Spencer smiled at him, no hate lingered, only admiration. "Can you tell me, what were you doing in the water that day?"

The smile fell and again and he cast his eyes towards the barn before returning an answer to Jason. "I had an accident," He rushed. "I told you I don't know how to swim."

"I don't believe that, young Lord," Jason said. "I believe there was a different reason."

"Spencer," he corrected. He sighed. "I will tell you if you want, since you do deserve to know. You saved my life, after all." He said quietly. "But only if you promise not to tell my father."

"I promise."

Spencer nodded towards the trunk of the tree and moved into the shade to sit. Jason followed; already humbled by anything the boy would tell him. He had speculations, but was certain that it involved the boy's mother.

He sat next to him besides the tree, folding his legs and turned to the boy attentively.

"That morning, I got a message from a servant," Spencer began. "It said that my mother was calling for me. I didn't go to her; I hid of course, since I knew why she was calling me. I had knocked over a jewelry box when I was spying in her rooms." His face grew stricken. "The box broke and so did a lot of the jewelry in it and I didn't want to face her so I ran to the shore but I only stopped running cause I couldn't breathe," he sighed. "And I fell asleep, and the next thing I know, Mama was screaming my name from across the beach and there was thunder and lighting and rain!"

Spencer paused and gulped. "This big huge," he eyes widened as he showed Jason the wave's height with his hands, "tall monster wave formed and it ate me! My mama-," Spencer broke off. "She left me as I was calling to her," his voice quivered and fell to a whisper. "I- I screamed really loud and then I saw you. You were standing on the cliff and you jumped in but then another wave hit and I don't remember the rest."

Jason tried to imagine himself saving Spencer. He pictured himself running out of the woods at top speed, the boy's eyes widening as though hope had arrived. He'd dive into the water while mountains of crashing waves pounded at him, making it an obstacle. But he would have been determined, and would've torn through the water with ease, getting to Spencer quickly.

Once he got to Spencer, he would have wrapped an arm around his waist and start to swim to the surface, punching a shark in the nose on his way. He would come up, touch Spencer's forehead, healing him from any lung damage and the boy would open his eyes, gleaming with thanks and admiration. Suddenly, another wave would hit and he would let go of Spencer and land on a rock. His brain would be splattered on a rock, quite the grossest scene for a heroic rescue. Spencer would be screaming, and the waves would settle instantly.

It was unimaginable was what it was. He could not see himself at all being a hero. He could not picture himself risking his life for a stranger. It was all too odd. He wasn't a golden boy, he wasn't a hero. From what he knew about himself, he was a brute. He didn't like talking much, but books, people in books were okay.

"I sat by your bed for days," Spencer told him. Jason looked to him, the boy's eyes were sad, troubled. "I held your hand. I spoke to you."

"You didn't need to do that."

Spencer nodded and took his hand. It was a small hand but warm, caring. An odd sensation fluttered in Jason's chest. He wanted to protect this boy.

"I did," Spencer said.

The feeling thickened and Jason cleared his throat to push it away.

"Do you ride horses," Jason asked, already knowing the answer. He just needed something to change the topic and maybe even something to put a smile on the boy's face.

Already, Spencer's eyes lit up. "I do! Papa said we would go riding, but something has gone wrong with Great- Grandmother and he had to go to London."

"I can take you." Jason thought for a moment, realizing something. "…But I don't have a horse."

Spencer jumped up. "Yes you do," he shouted in excitement. "The servants found him and I've been watching him for you! Come on!" He grabbed Jason's sleeve, trying to help him up. "You're far too heavy!"

Jason chuckled and stood up on his own. He followed the boy as he ran across the lawn towards the stables, happy that he found a purpose for the day.

THE FRONT DOOR to the extravagant Jacks Mansion opened with a bang then soon after closed with a slam, with the Earl of Ritroburgh, Lord Jasper Jacks's face on the other side of it. He sighed, since he knew this would happen. It happened every time they went to The Webber's townhouse for dinner.

"Skye," he called out then sighed, again. He knocked on the door but she did not answer. "Darling?"

A minute passed before the door finally swung open. His strikingly beautiful wife stepped out with a growl, gritting her pearly white teeth, her red hair.

"You," she started, wagging a finger at him, "are UNBELIEVABLE!"

It would be the same topic they argued about every week; their damned visit to the Webbers for dinner. "Skye," Jasper pleaded. "What is it?"

He knew that just once he should reject the invitation, prevent this from happening because of course it never really worked in his favor. Sure, after fights as big as this they would make love, but it wasn't really love they were creating, more like anger. Then after, Skye would pick herself up, put her clothes on and leave the room with her head held high and without a word to him. And she wouldn't say a word thereafter for days. It was a difficult process, a preventable process but he never ever did it differently.

"You know what," she accused and spun around, going back inside. His eyes widened, knowing what was coming next, and he caught the door before she could slam it, shocked that she was angrier than usual.

"Darling, you're not making any sense!"

"I'm not making any sense," she scoffed, trying to push the door shut, even if it meant breaking a few of his fingers. "You know what doesn't make any sense? Why you drag me to dinner with those people every week!"

"Because Steven Webber is my best friend," Jasper growled back. "That's why."

"Oh I don't think so," she shouted, trying her hardest to get the door closed, leaning all her weight and the weight of her dress onto it. But he was stronger and got the door open with one nudge of his shoulder. He stood in the doorway, a dazed expression on his face, his chest rising and falling as he breathed heavily.

"Well then," Jasper said, readjusting his cravat that had been rustled in the struggle. "Now, we can talk."

"Like I want to talk to you," She scowled and picked up her skirts, moving in a flash to the sitting room.

He watched her saunter off, enjoying how glorious a sight it was. The skirts of her blue gown swayed as she moved her hips, the gold embroidered bottom trailing behind her. She walked tall, and though she was angry, her steps were quiet and graceful, as though she was floating. He tried to hide his sheepish grin, admiring her secretly. She didn't realize how appealing she was to him when she was angry.

She disappeared into the parlor and he sighed, heavily, "Skye dear!"

He followed her and found her standing in front of the brandy cart, a glass already in hand, and pouring a large amount of brown liquid into a tall glass from a sparkling crystal bottle.

"You shouldn't be drinking that so late," he admonished.

She halted, blinking at him, the bottle still in hand. "Oh no, my lord," she probed innocently. "Well you'll have to excuse me. I've just sat at a table across from Lady Sarah Webber for hours. I deserve a drink."

She set the bottle down, raised a glass and a brow to him, then threw her head back, drinking majority of the glass in seconds.

"You are so unkind to Sarah. I'm telling you, it disgraces you."

"Sarah is it," She smiled falsely. She set her cup down on the cart hard. The noise startled Jasper and he jumped. "Well, looks like you and your lover have lost all manners of propriety."

"Nothing is going on between me and Sarah. You are my lover and I am yours, Skye."

She smiled again, that same false innocent smile and said mischievously, "You don't know that."

He froze and she all but laughed out loud at his expression. She lifted her skirts and flopped into a seat.

"What," he asked, his expression frightened.

"Well to be honest, you don't know about my affairs."

He cocked his head. "Are you claiming that you are betraying me?"

"Only if you've done it first."

"Well I haven't."

"Well," she sighed, leisurely "I obviously don't believe you."

"And like I would believe your claim," he smiled at her and moved, kneeling before her chair. His bright eyes shone with laughter and he lifted her hand, adorning it in soft kisses. "You love me very much, Skye."

"You're confidence is admirable, Jax," she replied primly but her voice was edged with desire. "Really, they reward slow children for such confidence."

"This argument is pointless," he whispered huskily, moving his onslaught to her forearm. "I am married to you and I shall remain faithful to you until the day I die."

"Well your secret love for Lady Sarah is certainly undermining your pledges," she mumbled. "It seems as though you wish to be married to her rather than me."

Jasper made a face and pulled away. He stood, straightening himself rigidly. "Must you say such things? Your jealousy is poison," he scolded with disdain and walked to the brandy cart.

She lowered her lashes, feeling guilty. Jacks poured a drink for himself, his back to her, his anger unwavering.

Just then, their butler Nestor entered the room. "Two letters were delivered this evening for you, my lord."

Jacks set his glass down and took the letters from Nestor, eying him suspiciously. "Do you know what these are about?"

"Not an inkling."

"Well thank you, Nest. You can go to sleep now."

"Goodnight, my lord." Nestor said as he bowed and left the room.

Jasper eyed the letters. He hadn't been expecting anything in the post. With Skye's eyes on him, he set one letter down and ripped open the seal of the other. He unfolded the letter, an expensive stationary and read:

Dear Jax,  
I've made plans to visit England. I know that it shall be a risky endeavor since I have many debtors after me in the country. But I find it high time that I visit you and my sister-in-law. Also, I have important confidential business that I must conduct in London. I am weighed with a great responsibility and hope it will be alright to call on your hospitality. I shall arrive by the end of the week. It's been years since I've seen you last,  
Love,  
Your brother Jerry

He grinned, giddy that his brother would be coming for a visit.

"This is excellent," he exclaimed.

"What is," his wife asked.

"It appears that Jerry is coming for a visit."

"What," Skye whined. "No! Just when I thought this night could not get any worse!"

If there was anything that could get Skye's mind off of Sarah Webber it was a visit from Jerry. Skye hated Jerry with more flavor and more diction than anyone else on earth. She really had no serious reason to hate him, according to Jax. But Skye saw it differently. When Jerry was around, Jacks often found himself in trouble.  
He'd almost been killed many times because of Jerry. Whenever Jerry was in a jam and needed a scapegoat, he thought no better than to give that position to Jacks. And worse of all, he had kept Jax from their wedding for hours because he had landed himself into quite a bit of trouble in the country and needed Jacks to fix it for him. Basically, Jerry was dependent on Jax and Jax felt it was his duty to help his brother because they were family.

Jerry was older than Jax by a few years. He'd been in line to inherit the family title before Jax But he was ran out of the country before he could inherit. He had been involved with some kind of dangerous criminal activity, and owed more money than he was worth on some sort of wager. Jax couldn't even pay it for him, even if Skye allowed him to and Jerry could never pay it himself, so he fled the country, moving to an exotic war-torn country.

"What's his reason for coming," Skye asked, suddenly feeling dizzy.

"Business."

"Yes," Skye snorted sarcastically. "The business of robbing us blind!"

"My family needs no reason to visit. Remember that darling."

"Yes I know but, Jerry_"

"Not another word." Jacks raised a hand. He tucked the letter under his arm, pressing it to his side, and walked to a desk while opening the other letter. "We've argued enough for one night."

Skye sighed and put the back of her hand to her forehead. She swayed again, feeling dizzier and lost her balance but caught herself. She reached out to the chair in front of her, steadying herself and sighed.

"What's wrong, Skye."

"Nothing, just Jerry; the mention of his name is enough to make me faint!"

"Skye," Jasper admonished. He pulled a card from the second envelope. "That is uncalled for!"

"No," she snapped. "What's uncalled for is your brother's existence."

"Look at that," he held the card up. "The Duke of Wyndemere is throwing a ball to honor a mystery guest. It's a masquerade." Skye perked up. "Still feeling faint?"

She gave him a glare that promised an endless amount of pain if he did not stop talking. "Maybe we can bring Jerry," he smiled sweetly.

She paled instantly.


	5. Chapter 4

**Some Enchanted Evening: Chapter 4**

_"To become a new person, one must remove all old desires and temptations. One can never go back, never have one last soiree for their past."_

"Well," Gerard Jacks mumbled to himself as he watched a servant deliver the last of his packed bags to the foot of his massive black stallion. "That seems to be everything."

His horse snorted as though he was mocking him, he'd never have enough for this excursion. The horse had been a generous gift from the Queen of Charles when he'd first took his position as Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. She had instilled much faith in him when he was given the position and she continued to, even if sometimes he didn't deserve it. It wasn't that he did a bad job; he took the job very seriously, one of the first things to ever be taken seriously in his life. Just sometimes he fell into old habits and made mistakes. And now, she put the most faith any person had ever had in him in a long time by giving him the most important job of all.

He took a deep shaky breath and ran his fingers through his hair, it still shocked and somewhat honored him that the Queen would ask that he be the one to handle a personal matter for her. And it was certainly not in his plans to let her down! He would do everything in his power to see to it that this job was done properly. And he did so firstly by packing light.

He made sure he his bag was small, fit for a trip to England and back. He would not allow this journey to be a long one. He knew that with this mission, months and months of speculation would do damage to the Queen's nerves. So he only packed a few shirts, an extra pair of breeches and a suit to be used as formal attire in-case his brother dragged him to a social event or two.

Well there was really no doubt about it. Staying with Jax, he knew his brother would try to reintroduce him to all of England. Aside from the Queen of Charles, his brother was another person who had so much faith invested in him. And no matter what Jerry did, that faith never ceased to exist.

He knew he didn't deserve a brother like Jax. When all of England rejected him, his brother had only held on tighter. When all of England rightfully slandered his name, his brother was the only one to defend it.

And now he was returning to England, where he wasn't wanted. He would leave the fluffy life he had built in Charles, a life that Jax would be proud of him for establishing. He would go to England, ignoring anything that would lead him back down the path to his old ways and he would do his job, with haste and would be rewarded by the Queens joy. He needed no money for this mission and he didn't want any power. The only reward he needed was to serve the happiness of a country that had taken him in, forgiven him for his past, and allowed him to become the best person he could possibly be.

Jerry heard a horse's neigh, different from his own horse, and pattering hooves behind him. He turned to see a man riding up to his mansion on a glorious black beast, one much like his own. He wore neat crisp attire, and every inch of fabric on him was red. The golden medallion he wore around his neck flashed brightly in the sun, signifying that he was a servant of the Queen. He watched the man come to trot and smiled as the man stopped his horse besides Jerry's and swung out of the saddle.

"Good Day, Mr. Jacks.", the servant said with a friendly wave. He spoke in Charles. Jerry had learned Charles quickly when he came. It wasn't a very difficult language but he did struggle in his writing of it.

"Good day." Jerry smiled back and climbed down the steps to the lush lawns. He met the man half way and shook his hand.

"I'm glad I caught you. It looks like you are about to set out."

"I was in fact."

"Oh," the servant said as he took a breath in relief. "Goodness, I've cut it close. The Queen requests your presence before your departure, sir."

"Does she," Jerry murmured and searched for a reason she would need to see him. He had wrapped everything up, knowing he would be gone for some time. "Alright, then I shall be on my way now."

He smiled at the man and thanked him. Puzzled, Jerry walked to his own horse, waving to his servants who were shouting well wishes and cheers. He didn't need well wishes, he would do his job and do it right. He grabbed his bag, and lifted himself into his saddle and then rode off determined and without looking back.

"GREAT-AUNT MONICA," Brook Lynn sang as she ran across the shimmering stone floors of the renowned gallery in the Quartermaine. With her eyes shining, she lifted her skirt, revealing her white draws as she twirled, letting the dress fly around her. "Do you like my dress?"

Monica couldn't help but laugh as she watched the girl spin around in her underwear. "Why yes I do, Brook. It's so very beautiful. Fit for a beautiful princess." She smiled at her, knowing it was a sad smile.

Brook paused, getting dizzy and caught herself before she fell. "Really?"

Monica chuckled. "Yes really."

"Oh, I love you Great-Aunt Monica. You always pay me the nicest compliments," Brook sang and ran to wrap her arms around her beloved Great-Aunt's waist.

Monica smiled, heartened by the gesture. When Brook pulled away, Monica stroked her soft chubby cheek and whispered "I love you too, Brook."

Brook was a very spirited child. She was striking, her hair dark, and her eyes light , a trademark of the family. She loved to sing and dance and oh how she loved to twirl. She was a child, innocent, earnest and beautiful. But she did not realize how much she hurt her Great-Aunt Monica with every breath she took and every word she said.

It had been ten long years since she had last seen her sons. She still remembered how they acted exactly. AJ was stout and keen on the ideas of responsibility. Jason was young and playful and so very kind, much like Brook. He enjoyed the little responsibilities of being the spare child, the one that wouldn't inherit and therefore did not have to think all about duty.

AJ had been a little jealous of Jason. He had spent hours and hours of the day in class learning the responsibilities he would need for his future while Jason ran outside and played with his cousins, his future free of bounds.

They all saw Jason as the light of the family, the one that kept their hearts warm and their days lively. He had a way of getting everyone to laugh. And mot a person that met Jason didn't love him.

Though he was jealous, AJ still loved Jason as much as everyone else had.

And AJ left the same kind of impression on people as well. He had a way of making a person's worries melt away with just one smile. Every day he taught someone something new. In his serious brown eyes, Monica had seen the future and in them, the future was beautiful.

But that future had been ripped away by rebellion and replaced with a new one, one without her sons. Now her handsome boys were gone and her kingdom was quiet. If Monica had led a normal life, there would never come a day where she would ask to be a princess and certainly not a Queen. There was no winning when one was in a position of such high power. Half the state agreed and half disagreed and those that disagreed began to hate and through their hate they would create poison. That poison drained her life for a decade.

Her Father-in-law, Edward was a good man, albeit stubborn. He was loved by the people but for a very short time. As a family man, he saw to it that his family was alright before the people which angered many. Money that poured in, he used to make sure his family was okay, even those around the world. The public didn't act on their anger though because of his Queen, the beautiful, sweet natured Lila who everyone adored because of her generosity and earthliness.

Lila treated everyone as an equal and everyone respected her because she did. She was their symbol of hope, their light at the end of a very long tunnel. There was a common misconception that Edward and Lila's marriage was an unhappy one. Edward was often found grumpy, with a frown on his face, and was always snapping at someone. But what the public didn't see was how once Lila walked into the room, Edward's anger melted and his love shone through. They didn't understand that the same effect she had on them she had on Edward.

But when Lila died, something moved in the way and blocked the light of Charles. The people were angry and needed someone to blame. They placed the blame on the heart-broken Edward and he on the people. He led country the country now like a corrupted tyrant. He took no notice of the people suffering. No one in the family agreed with him, least of all his own son and successor Alan. But the downward spiral continued and the dark days began.

The fighting took a few years to break out. But when it did, blood flooded through the streets and fire torched every house and every person. The chaos was touched everything, disordered and violent, ironically directed by one man, Sonny Corinthos. He had gained the people's trust and loyalty by promising them wealth and happiness, he spoke of plans to overthrow Edward, chanted about the murder of every one of Edward's successors so that his influence would never again hurt the people of Charles again.

At first, the family just believed that his threats were all talk. But soon, members of the nobility and their families were targeted and murdered in cold, harsh blood. It was obvious that the people of Charles hated them and that they would never be safe again.

Monica made the only smart decision she could. The hardest decision of her life but a decision any mother would have made. She would send her boys away so that they would be safe from the likes of Sonny Corinthos. It would be difficult to say goodbye but she had to do it. The people that she had once loved now hated her and she hated them for forcing her to send her sons away.

But the day before they'd planned to send the princes off, the palace was stormed by the angry public. It was the worst night of her life and one she could never rid herself of. Monica watched as Sonny Corinthos and his men entered her home, her sanctuary with their fire and their swords. She watched as they killed, servants, members of the family, friends. Blood streamed everywhere. Rocks crumbled, shouts coming from every angle. In shock, she only stood there as the chaos spun around her. She just stood, in her elegant white gown, with her sparkling diamonds and her crown that no longer meant anything.

_ "Monica," Alan cried, an edge of bloodcurdling fear echoing his shouts. "Monica!" His breath wheezed as his lungs took in the dust and the ash of his home. He felt tired, weak headed, he would give anything to lay down that second and sleep forever. But he could not give up and he knew that. He could not go until he found Monica._

There was no way of seeing in all the mess and chaos. All the elements of the situation were against him. But he was determined. They had been talking minutes before; only seconds before their peace was interrupted and their lives were disturbed. She had laughed at one of his foolish jokes then, her laugh ringing through the air, coating his loving heart. Then the next second, it all shattered.

"Monica!" He was holding onto what appeared to be the only sturdy pillar in the room as all the others had fallen to the floor. The ground shook from explosions, he held on tight as he was knocked back and forth. Large rocks fell from the ceiling, as cracks ran all around the stone. He bit pack his cries of fear, wanting only courage to bleed from him in the face of his family's demise, if this was in fact his last moments.

Still, he would not die until Monica was safe. The anguishing screams were moving closer. How he wished he could turn a deaf ear to the torture of his family. Their screams and tears hurt him more than anything. He searched blindly around him, still unable to find Monica through the clouds of dust and the darkness.

He did not want to lose her. And worse, he did not want to stand in safety as he did. He had a chance to die but that same chance was a chance to save the love of his life. It was one decision, an easy package, none that needed thinking. And so he gritted his teeth, determination and love flooding his speeding heart, banning all hesitation from him and he let himself go, flinging himself into honor, flinging himself into death.

He ran, unable to see, but somehow managing to stay alive as he dodged rock after rock in swift steps. His eyes flew around madly as he looked for her. He called out her name, but there was no answer. He slowed his steps; he was weak and felt ill. His lungs took in no air, only dirt and dust. He closed his eyes, hunched over and inhaled as best as he could so he would be able to continue. But no breath seemed suffice.

Tears filled his eyes. He was losing time. He shook his head, his death wish would not be completed. He would never get to Monica. He would die there, alone and so he gave in, collapsing to the ground, gasping for breath.

He didn't know how long he'd been there but just when he thought that his fate had been set in stone, the dust settled enough for him to make out the faint silhouette. It was a lady, who stood untouched as everything was crashed and destroyed around her.

He did not think, or talk, he got up with sudden strength and ran, overjoyed to have found her. Monica stood, her silk white gown flowing perfect and untouched around her. When he reached her, she said nothing and he didn't need her to. Instantly, he drew her into his arms.

"Oh, Monica! I almost didn't find you, sweetheart." He let out a sigh of relief and rocked her back and forth in his arms. "Come on. We have to get out of here."

She still said nothing. He whipped his head around, the sounds of the destruction still singeing his ears, and getting closer. "Monica?"

He pushed her away from him to examine her. Her eyes were blank, endlessly frozen by fear and her face was as ashen as fading velvet.

"Oh, Monica," he gasped, the sight of her slicing his heart into pieces. Tears fell from his eyes, crystal clean tears, glimmering like the floors of the palace ballroom. Right around him his home was being destroyed and his family was dying. How could he go on if they did not? He could lose everything important to him in just one night.

He collected Monica in his arms again, humming to her, soothing her. His arms held her tightly. This could be his last moment. This could be his end. He would die now, with his wife in his arms, as honorable a death as any. He would stay there, with her, till the end.

"Alan," he heard a piercing weep. His heart faltered. "Alan!"

He blinked; it was his cousin Alexandria who called him. He lifted his head from Monica's embrace. He gasped suddenly, stunned and horrified. A long fallen column stretched the width of the room and pinned underneath it was Alexandria.

He hated himself for it but he hesitated, looking to Monica first. He did not want to leave her or the safety he felt. But his cousin needed his help and all his life he had lived by the power of family. He released his wife and pressed his lips to hers, praying this kiss wasn't their last,. Then he tore off to kneel besides his cousin's head.

"Alan?" she struggled to speak. Eyes wide, he nodded. She was gasping, clutching on to mere moments. Her long black hair spilled around her like ink. Blood trickled from her red quivering mouth. "The boys, Alan! Get the boys, a-a-nd Monica a-a-nd go!" 

Alexandra had not made it that night. She had died in the engulfing flames of its horribleness. But Monica thanked her every day for not letting her and Alan give up.

_ The boys? In all this chaos, Alan had not thought of them. He feathered Alexandria's forehead with kisses and scrambled up from his knees and ran back to Monica._

"Alan," she whispered, coming to.

"Our sons, my love." He took her face between her hands gently and smiled. "We have to go and get our sons."

She nodded, her voice still escaping her. He took Monica's hand and swallowed a puff of courage and ran out of the room, with one thing in sight. They ran through the great palace, running miles with weak legs, fire and anguish following them everywhere.

She had watched the boys escape that night, taking with them, a big piece of her heart. Though she never expected anything to happen, they had done drill after drill, practicing the escape plan in case it was ever needed. A.J was shocked when they told him that he would have to run the drill, alone, leaving them behind and that he and Jason were to get on a boat at the end of the path and sail off to England. Monica and Alan had told them that they would meet them when once they learned the fate of Charles. The plan had worked well since they got away from the heartache of that night without being included in it.

Their young eyes never had to see what those horrible people did to Edward. How they mounted his decapitated head on a pike and carried it around the capital, cackling with laughter as they did. The surviving members of the family, including her and Alan, went into hiding. Sonny Corinthos became their government and in that time Monica realized it was impossible to be with her princes.

But much like Edward, Sonny cared more for his own affairs than the affairs of the people. The public became dissatisfied, and unlike Edward, he had no support in parliament. He was overthrown a few years later, shoved out and cursed forever.

The people needed leading, so she and Alan had unveiled themselves. Though they were thoroughly displeased with those they were leading they did nothing to punish them however and the public fell deeply in love with Alan and their family again. He led them with fairness, took heed to their advice, and made sure every government official did as well. Though he led well and was loved, there was still the fear that he would end the same as his father. He was King but Sonny Corinthos could be anywhere.

But recently, they had learned that he did not give up on his plot to murder every heir in the Quartermaine family when he came after Ned a few years ago, their nephew. Ned had resurfaced in Italy, also having gone into hiding. There he had met his wife Lois who had generously sheltered him and had even saved him from Sonny Corinthos. After, Sonny had attacked Ned's brother, Dylan who was traveling back to Charles with his mother Tracy from France but Dylan had survived his wounds. He had however been successful, only one time, and had taken the life of Justus, Edward's grandson as he resurfaced in Spain. He hadn't forgotten his plans and they all knew he would be after A.J and Jason.

Two servants entered and Brook immediately stopped her twirling. They smiled at her but Brooke face did not change and she did not smile back. She had grown to be as weary of the public as they had.

"Your highness," one of the servants said. "Sir Gerard has arrived."

"Thank you. Send him in." She never understood why it took two servants to announce one person's arrival.

"Brooke," She started. But the young girl already knew.

"I'm already on my way, Great Aunt!" she sang and she skipped out of the room, but not before flashing her underpants one last time.

Monica chuckled and was still chuckling when Gerard Jacks entered the gallery.

"Hello, your highness. Finding any piece of art highly humorous?"

She turned to find Jerry Jacks, one of her trusted officials, casually leaning against the stone entry way, a mischievous smile on his face, and dressed in loose trousers and a silk waistcoat. Monica enjoyed Jerry's company greatly. He never bowed when she entered, never feathered her hand with meaningless kisses. He was bold and honest, and so he did his job well. He never misled her or did anything that signaled he had ulterior motives. And that's why she found him perfect for the job.

She smiled at him and stretched her hand, beckoning him to enter. "No." She said as she allowed him to kiss her cheek. "My niece, Brook has recently acquired the habit of showing her underpants. I will wait until her parents break the habit, for I find it highly amusing."

He grinned and took her hand, placing it in the crook of his elbow. "I'm sorry that I am keeping you from beginning your important voyage but there is just one thing I would like to show you before you set off."

She led him towards the far end of the gallery, passing many old family portraits and tapestries as they walked. Jerry explored each painting, noticing that the size of the family had decreased extremely over the years. In these portraits he saw a condensed family, filled with so many people, they could barely fit on canvas, so many children with rosy cheeks and dark hair and beautiful women with pristine noses and royal-like stature. He knew of the heart ache Queen Monica's family had suffered. But she never let on; she never showed it as anything massive. To loose so many people, he thought, to be less than those beautiful portraits must've felt like a horrible, horrible thing.

Finally, they reached the end of the gallery and she stopped him before a velvet red curtain. She said nothing, letting her hand fall from his arm and reached up to grab a rope that hung from the curtain. She tugged it and the curtain opened, moving to each side of a large golden frame, the only painting on the wall.

He looked over the piece. It was quite remarkable and very well done but he did not recognize the artist and had never laid eyes on a replica before. It was a simple work, nothing too exquisite. Two boys stood in a bountiful field of wild flowers and tall grass. One boy, stood bent over, his head full of tidy black hair. His eyes were closed, his black eyelashes long, seeing no ending. A closed smile of in-complex pleasure stretched across his face as he dug his nose into the center of a large sunflower.

The other boy sat planted in the meadow, shoeless, his attire messy and incomplete. Wisps of hair flew from every angle of his blonde head, glowing in the sun, like a halo. His chin was lifted, his grin wide and missing a few teeth. He held a large bouquet of flowers in his hand, not a single one matching. His eyes were big and happy, puffing out azure, they bore into Jerry's, not just asking, but begging him to be happy too.

His heart felt heavy from looking at the painting. So many emotions gushed from it.

"This painting is called The Lost Princes of Charles," Monica explained. Jerry couldn't stop his gasp quick enough and Monica turned to him, her eyes sad and she nodded. This painting was a legend that passed from house to house in the country. Only a few had ever seen it and those who did were the only ones that truly knew what Queen Monica's issues looked like.

"I know that people talk of this painting. Girls wish to marry them. Men claim they are them. And some even claim that they have my sons but I am not that foolish anymore. My sons are out there somewhere. They're older, 23 and 25, but I would still recognize them anywhere, with or without this painting." She paused for a moment, then continued, her voice breaking. "They may hate me for leaving them on their own for so long. But I want my chance to find out. And that's why your job is important. Not because my sons are in danger, though they are, but because I am dying every day without them."

Jerry said nothing because he didn't really know what to say. He felt her pain as she looked at the image of her sons.

"Do you think I'm doing the right thing," she asked, her tone low and petrified. "This is my country. I am Queen but I'm not entirely sure I can protect them."

Jerry looked back at the painting. In it he saw two little boys that had the world to roam for they saw very little of it. He thought of them lost in the world now, learning and seeing. "I think you're doing the right thing."

"I'm scared."

"It's okay for you to be."

He felt even more determined than before. These boys were robbed of a chance to grow up with a mother and father. He looked to the Queen; her eyes set longingly on the faces of her sons, and took her hand. They stood there together, as the lost Princes danced around them, and he made a silent vow. Jerry would bring them home no matter what. He would save his Queen.

"WOULD YOU PASS ME that book, Elizabeth dear," Sarah asked, her way friendly. She spoke looking through the mirror of her vanity as Elizabeth sat on her bed, picking at her dress.

"Of course." Elizabeth replied, snapping to attention. She got up and retrieved the book, a large heavy brown one, with an old-fashion leather binding. She handed it to Sarah, who was having her hair dressed for the third time that day, and was forcing Elizabeth and Carly in her company.

"What does she even need it for," Carly muttered only for Elizabeth to hear. Elizabeth stifled her laugh. Sarah of course had ulterior motives for wanting Carly and Elizabeth in her presence. They had spent most of the day packing bags but they had no idea why. It seemed that Sarah was going on a trip and a long one by the amount she packed. Even Carly, who was angry at first when Sarah ordered her to pack her wardrobe though Carly wasn't her maid, eventually, got over her anger when she realized that Sarah would be going away.

Yet, Sarah still had not revealed anything about where she was going and why. But Elizabeth and Carly didn't need to hear too many words about it. Their spirits were already slathered with joy.

They were just so happy to have her out of the house for a while. Carly more because it meant she would no longer have to wait hand and foot on a person who was not her employer. And Elizabeth because she would finally have time to herself and be able to get back to doing the things she enjoyed.

In the past weeks, Elizabeth had gotten very little time for herself. After a few of Sarah's lessons, Elizabeth realized how foolish she had been for agreeing to them in the first place. They were long and tedious, and they started so early in the morning and were absolutely, positively pointless.

Sarah had tried and failed miserably to turn Elizabeth into an elegant English lady. From day one of their agreement, she took control of every aspect of Elizabeth's life. She now dressed her, controlled what she ate, and how she did her hair. She forced lessons upon her such as dancing and flirting. She even used crazy techniques to enhance Elizabeth's beauty, or as Sarah put it "surface it".

Sure if Elizabeth was any other old dainty miss, the lessons would have worked. But Elizabeth was different; she saw more meaning in the world than the pout of her lips. Besides, she'd already learned everything Sarah was teaching. Though her grandmother was advanced in years, she was still a lady, and saw the "importance" in teaching her granddaughter how to become a proper lady. However, Elizabeth wanted no part in society, especially when she didn't fit in.

Sabotage wasn't a very difficult thing for Elizabeth. Unlike many ladies, she kept her wits closer than her purse. It wasn't hard to ruin a dress at all. Silks and satins were beautiful, they glided over the hand, so soft and elegant to the touch, but they weren't rough enough for the tosses and turns of nature. Falling into a pond and tripping over one's own skirts could damage a dress beyond repair, Elizabeth had learned. And god help a lady who spent most of the day in a wrinkled dress, even if her maid had opened up her wardrobe that morning to find them all that way. And her corset! How foolish of her to think it would be worn upside down! She had no idea that her breasts were supposed to be up and in the faces of men like a serving platter. So the dressing of course didn't work out, due to Elizabeth's ignorance, and Sarah finally left that part of her teachings untouched and Elizabeth was slowly able to return to her camouflaging style of dress. But she pressed on with her other lessons, which Elizabeth made sure to make no progress in as well.

Her first lesson had been dancing. Elizabeth knew how to dance, she was an excellent dancer and had learned well from her grandfather who would waltz and spin with her every afternoon on their walks through the woods. Elizabeth remembered fondly how they would explore, cracking branches, and their echoes sounding through the air as they called back and forth to each other with exciting discoveries. Then when they'd found each other moments later, her grandfather would elegantly bow before her and take her hand, twirling with her through the sun filled clearings.

Because of those wonderful afternoons with her grandfather, Elizabeth knew how to stand, how to keep her posture, how to elegantly move her steps. She learned how to find the music when the music was gone. But now, she was forced to unravel his teachings. She could now possibly be known as the woman with the worst posture in the world. She danced as though her feet were chained, her body stiff and shrunken and she had learned that it was quite frowned about to catch one's balance by grabbing the butt cheeks of their partner. Sarah had told her with a blush that she would rather see a person fall flat on their face.

Flirting wasn't her forte either, for she babbled like a nervous pigeon about unfeminine things like science and politics, things that shouldn't even be present in her woman brain.

Elizabeth sighed happily, she was proud of her work. She never thought someone like herself, who was excellent at manners and well verse in public conduct could be able to act as though she was the complete opposite of that. Sure, it had been entertaining for a while, but now she wished to return to her painting and drawing. It felt like she hadn't been near a canvas in years.

Art was her passion and the longer she was away from it, the more she felt as though she was losing herself. Back home, or well at her Grandparents estate, since Webber House was her home now, her grandfather had built her an art studio, a private one, just for her. She was loved to capture life, trap it in a canvas, then alter the perspective with a flourish of her paintbrush, making it something entirely different yet still so the same.

"Now Liz," Sarah said, interrupting her longings. "Just because I will be away doesn't mean can neglect all that you've learned!"

"Of course not, Sarah," She said with false excitement. "I have learned so much. I would not like to see it go to waste."

"Much, you say," Sarah bristled. "Yes, well; I would like you to read this book." She held up the book that she asked Elizabeth to retrieve. "I've creased the pages I deem most important for you to get through it faster."

Elizabeth nodded, and tried to ignore Carly who shot her a look that said this was a prime example why Sarah didn't need books.

"I'll only be gone for a short while," Sarah said, as she stood, her hair finished.

"Then why so much packing?"

"A lady never knows what chaos she might find herself in. It is not "so much" packing, its preparation for all sorts of events."

Sarah dusted herself off idly then said, "You be sure to tell Steven I've gone to Hampshire. But if you need me," she paused, her hand halting on her dress. "m-my real where-abouts are disclosed to you in the pages of that book."

"Alright," Elizabeth replied slowly, perplexed. Sarah was lying to Steven? Did she do it often? And was she doing something Steven would disapprove of.

"I've got a few more things to settle before I leave," Sarah said with a kind smile, a real smile, probably the first Elizabeth had seen since she'd gotten there. Sarah took her hand, hers so warm and soft and dainty, and squeezed it, her eyes shining oddly. How suspicious, Elizabeth thought, but before she could ask another question, Sarah hurried from the room, leaving Elizabeth to her thoughts. Elizabeth sat back, puzzled with what she should do, wondering what was going on. More importantly, what she should tell Steven.

A FEW HOURS after Sarah had left; there was a knock at the door. However, Elizabeth hadn't heard it, for she was in another world entirely, one that hadn't dried yet.

It was an exquisite afternoon, or well exquisite to an artist like Elizabeth. The sky was white, filled to the brim with puffy clouds. Some would peer from their windows, take one look at those clouds and decide to stay in but to Elizabeth there was no better lighting. The clouds covered every inch of the sky, blocking the sun, only letting droplets of it leak through its cracks, streaking the earth and creating fascinating shadows.

It was a beautiful scene, one Elizabeth certainly felt the need to paint, and thankfully could without interruption, now that Sarah was gone. She was almost finished with the painting, thrilled by the smells and the gliding motion of her paintbrush when the butler walked in.

"Lady Elizabeth, a call for you."

She froze, startled, almost dropping her paintbrush as she was ripped off her canvas and pasted back into reality. Their butler was a very tall, intimidating man. Standing, Elizabeth only reached his waist and his voice boomed loudly even when it was unnecessary. But his voice wasn't the only reason she froze. His message was the second part of it. She wondered who could be calling on her. She knew no one in London and planned to keep it that way. Had Sarah done this? Had she set her up?

She placed her paints down and took one last, critical glance at her painting, satisfied with it then turned to the butler and nearly jumped to reach his hand to accept the calling card.

"Thank you," she said. She stood there for a moment, knowing she was keeping the butler waiting, as she stared at the back of the card trying to recognize the crest. She didn't have to accept the visitor, she could reject, but news of it could run back to Sarah and she would return early with her anger in tow. And she especially didn't want to take her chances since Sarah might question the butler and since she couldn't see his face due to his height, she didn't trust him.

Elizabeth sighed, so frustrated, then pushed her giant, owl-like pince-nez down the bridge of her nose and tried to make out the name on the front of the card.

Since the lenses weren't hers and she absolutely did not need them, it was impossible to see anything really with them on. They'd been her Grams who had many littering Hasterberry Hall for she lost them often. Grams would never notice the missing pair.

Her mouth fell open suddenly, as she was finally able to make out the name on the card. She gasped, and then read it again to make sure she wasn't mistaken. Then screamed, a sound so full of excitement that it startled the tall butler so much, he jumped, his head almost reaching the ceiling. She bunched the hem of her skirt in her hand, the card flying to the ground and ran with all her might through the house and down the long entry stairwell.

"Emily," she cried the name of her oldest and dearest friend in the world, Emily Bowen. She reached the bottom of the stairs, exhausted, and threw her arms around her friend. "How did you know I was here? How did you know where to find me?"

Emily drew away, her eyes wide and confused. She kept Elizabeth at arm's length, stiffly and glanced at her with skepticism in her eyes. "Liz?"

In all the excitement, Elizabeth had plum forgotten that she was in disguise, that she was somewhat unrecognizable even. She saw the confusion and shock on Emily's face, grinning, proud that her disguise hid her even from the people who knew her the best. "Yes, it's me."

"Well what has happened to you darling," Emily almost shouted. Her eyes rudely, gawking. Elizabeth didn't blame her, since Emily was one of the few people in London who knew what Elizabeth truly looked like. "Do I even want to know?"

"No," she said honestly. "You don't." She grinned and tugged her friends arm, dragging her shocked body into the parlor. "Shall we have tea?"

"I'm sorry," Emily muttered. "Please forgive me?"

"Of course," Elizabeth replied. She took a seat at the table near the window and Emily followed, sitting on the opposite side of the table. Her eyes traveled around the room, slowly. She was trying to avoid making eye contact with Elizabeth. Silence fell between them as Emily's eyes admired the furniture, the ceiling, the dust mites, and the four legs of her chair.

"Oh for Pete's sake!" Elizabeth cried.

"I'm sorry," she cried back. "Is this really you?"

"Of course it's not! It's bits of powder and make up! And I don't actually need the lenses! It's a costume."

"Oh," Emily sighed, so relieved she had to press a hand to her bodice. "So you're just up to usual artist antics. I was frightened for a second. Why are you in costume though?"

"I told you that you wouldn't like to know," Elizabeth warned. Emily was not very supportive of her ideas to live her life unmarried and happy as a free, independent woman. "Sarah thinks to marry me off. So to put an end to her foolish thoughts, and to Steven's if he is so much as thinks them, I'm making myself completely unsuitable."

"Oh Liz," Emily admonished. "Truly? Not this again!"

Emily was the Honorable daughter of a Baron and had been Elizabeth's closet friend since childhood. She'd been there when Elizabeth had first started warding off boys, which was very young, when they all use to play with each other and wander the woods. Back then, Elizabeth hadn't used a disguise, instead she just acted as though she'd simply gone mad and it had worked. She'd even been referenced as the mad child by many of the villagers. Emily absolutely hated her antics then, though she did find them amusing. She mostly felt bad for the poor boys who thought Elizabeth their first love then had to wonder for a time about their good judgment.

"Yes this again," Elizabeth shot back. "And from your response to my appearance, my plan seems to be working." She grinned and motioned to a passing servant. "Tea, please?"

Elizabeth hated tea herself, but Emily was the gentler, loftier, kind of woman who enjoyed it. They were very different for two friends. Emily was soft and very kind. She had big brown eyes that shone with hope on anyone who asked her for it. She was gullible, Elizabeth was sad to say, and often followed in any trouble she used to stir up. But the thing that unnerved Elizabeth the most about Emily was that she was stunning, simply put. Her hair was a long, soft, silky, dark brown, with blonde streaks teased from the sun. Her nose and eyebrows were smooth and perfectly shaped and envied by all women of the gentry who had ever met her but they didn't stay jealous for too long for they were then blown away by her blinding white smile.

But for such a beautiful woman, Emily was completely daft! She had many suitors, though she'd yet to have a London season. With one smile, Emily could have any man that she wanted but instead she chased the most unattainable kind of man. Usually, these men were either of a lower class, betrothed or married, or simply uninterested in the anatomy of women. She left her swirls of handsome men to foolishly run after these twits she could never have, then cried for weeks when they rejected her and did the dutiful thing for their marriage or commitment to someone else.

But people were never perfect and while Elizabeth was tired of Emily's pitiful cycle of well-deserved heartbreaks, Emily didn't understand her determination to achieve independence either. The two would never agree but they'd always love each other and be friends.

"So what brings you here," Elizabeth asked.

"Well, first thing, let me make clear how surprised I was when I heard that you had left Hasterberry Hall for good, without even saying goodbye to me!"

"I meant to," Elizabeth muttered, her face growing pink. She had been haunted by not saying goodbye to Emily. But after the pain it took to say goodbye to her grandparents and the people of Hasterberry Hall, she knew should not. "It was too hard."

"What I don't understand is, why did you leave your grandparents in the first place? To come here? You don't even know Steven or Sarah!"

"My grandparents raised children of their own already. They were finished and were meant to have this time to grow old together, just the two of them. But then my parents died, and they were forced to raise another child. But now I'm old enough to know that this is where I must be."

"Okay," Emily murmured. "That's sweet in a sense. Of course, you sacrificing yourself puts a bit of a downer on the story."

"I'm not sacrificing myself by living with my siblings!"

"Do you even like them," Emily pressed. "Do you even know them?'

"Yes I like them," Elizabeth replied. "Steven is a wonderful man, very serious at times, but a very good big brother. And Sarah, well she has the warmest of hearts."

Even as the words. "Sarah" and "warm heart" left her lips, she knew her face had given up her lie and that Emily would spot it instantly.

"Oh pfft," Emily laughed. "I wish the tea had come already. Then I could watch you utter those words and choke as a reward."

"Okay, so Sarah isn't a saint," Elizabeth admitted with a waved hand. "But she isn't horrible either. Except," she giggled before saying "she is treating Carly, like a real maid."

"That must be a treat since you've never been able to," Emily chuckled. "Now to get down to serious business." Emily directed, her tone changing into something regal.

She paused, as the servants brought the tea, sitting up extra tall as they poured then thanked and dismissed them as though she were the Queen. She stirred her tea just as formally, with all the proper tea etiquette they were taught to learn since they were a very young age. Elizabeth waited, knowing that Emily was only acting foolish because she would, similar to her tone, be asking for something foolish.

"Now Liz, You know this is my first season-"

"Absolutely not," Elizabeth cut in, not even allowing her to finish. Emily's face fell instantly in dejection.

"Oh come on, Liz," She cried. "Hear me out, will you?"

It wasn't often that Emily asked Elizabeth to accompany to her to a social event. That was because Elizabeth was poor company. But when she did it was because she fancied someone there, usually the host, and she brought Elizabeth only to look as though she was extremely preoccupied. They usually stood against a wall somewhere, acting as though they were the elite of the elite of England and having the conversations of their lives. People would stop and stand around listening in on their conversation though it was never really anything of personal interest to the two of them. Their host would move towards them then, and he would spot Emily. He would be dazzled, not only by her apparent social standing, but by her superb ability to carry conversation. He would whisk Emily away usually, and Elizabeth would have to entertain a good round of men for the rest of the event.

She certainly was not doing that again.

"Now listen, Liz." Emily said firmly. "This is a masquerade ball, for the dashingly handsome Nikolas Cassidine! He's a Duke! A Duke!"

"Is he married," Elizabeth asked, bluntly. Her eyelashes lowered, as though she were sleepy.

"Unhappily," Emily stammered to say. Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "His wife is barren! She is mean! And he's falling into his cup, the poor soul!"

"And if he were with you, he'd be different," Elizabeth mocked Emily's usual saying, and even did it with a little enthusiasm, tossing her hair about the way Emily stupidly did.

"You must come with me! I will not allow you to say no!"

"No."

"Please," Emily begged, pushing her tea cup aside and grabbing for Elizabeth's arms. "It's a masquerade ball! No one will know who you are! Oh please! It'll be your first London ball!"

That was true, she'd never been to a ball in London, and if her plans worked with Sarah she would never have to. All Sarah's lessons and teachings were meant for the one pinnacle moment, her debut to society. She wondered what was so spectacular about London society that had everyone leaping left and right to be an accepted part of it.

She started weighting the idea. It would be a night of research; she'd learn and examine the ways of London society. That way when she shut herself away from it, she could know for a fact, that she wasn't missing much. A masquerade would also be fun; no one would know who she was to call on her in the morning as long as she left before the reveal.

She starting biting her lower lip, a sign that Emily would take with great amounts of joy, knowing that Elizabeth was just about ready to give in.

"When is it," Elizabeth asked. Emily rejoiced as expected. She screamed and squeezed her hand happily as she let out that long pent up breath she had been holding.

"Tomorrow night," Emily told her, giddily.

"I don't have a dress."

Well, what about all your fabulous clothes-"

"I dyed them," Elizabeth told her.

"You what," Emily jumped out of her seat and exclaimed.

"I dyed them all dark colors. Black, brown, grey."

"That is taking your plan too far, Liz," Emily cried. She stamped her foot angrily. "I might shed tears for those extravagant, beautiful gowns!"

Elizabeth shrugged.

"Well, I'll find you something by tomorrow, I promise, and if I don't, you don't need to go," She said, slumping a little.

"Alright then," Elizabeth said. She stood from her chair, hugged her friend and walked, her skirts swishing, out of the room and back towards the drawing room.

"I'll never forgive you for harming those clothes," Emily shouted after her.

"I'm fine with that!"


	6. Chapter 5

**Some Enchanted Evening Chapter 5**

_"In a look...love just...happens..."_

Elizabeth's eyes fluttered open as the first chirps of a fresh and new day sounded. It was morning. The air was still and clean. The sun was out and bright, sprinkling into her room through her thin cotton curtains, making her squint. She turned away from the light and snuggled deeper into her comfy bed, hoping that she could once again fall asleep.

She blinked, groggily, once, twice, then her eyes shut and her breathing slowed and peacefully she drifted back to sleep.

Well, that was until her eyes flew open and she awoke suddenly, catapulting to a sitting position on her bed. That ball that Emily wanted her to go to! It was tonight, she thought in panic. And she had so much to do!

She ran a finger through her messy hair, jumped from her bed frantically and then slowed when she found her head spinning. She tried to start for the water closet, her head still reeling, and was surprised when she found herself pulled right back to her bed. She looked down, confused, and found that her bed covers had wrapped themselves stubbornly around her ankle. Even they didn't want her to leave her bed and start this horrifying day!

She called for Carly, already knowing that it was hopeless. Carly was the last person one would call during any kind of emergency, even life or death. She reacted so slowly to things and treated everything so casually. Which meant Elizabeth was on her own and she'd have to find a smart way to get out of this one.

Elizabeth stood on one foot, wobbling for balance as she tried, with great difficulty, to untie the cover from her other ankle. But it wouldn't budge, at least not by using her fingers, and it seemed that her nightgown was involved in the messy knot as well. She sighed, glancing around the room and spotted a pair of sheers on her vanity table. The distance wasn't far. She could make it just by hopping but she wondered if anyone would be upset if she destroyed her sheets.

On one foot, she hopped to her small cherry wood vanity, the sheet still tugging roughly at her left foot. She regained her balance, lifted the scissors from the vanity and wildly cut at the sheet. She felt the instant relief when the sheet stopped pulling at her foot. But what she wasn't ready for was the loss of balance and certainly not the crashing into things. The moment she had cut at the sheet, she lost the support the rope provided and went flailing into her vanity, making a loud crash and letting out an even louder scream.

"Car-AHH," she cried, as she fell, everything on her vanity clattering to the floor as well. Now how was she supposed to get ready, she thought idly, her sides in great pain. And surely someone would be mad at her, now, with her vanity table on the floor.

Her door finally opened. "What," Carly cried as she ran into the room, the door slamming into the wall from her force. She obviously wasn't staggering from sleep. In fact, Carly looked wide awake, glowingly healthy, and had definitely heard her first call.

"What is it," she cried again. Two maids ran in after her. She probably had been talking with them when Elizabeth called the first time. And of course, Carly would use rudeness as her excuse. "Why are you on the floor?"

"You would know had you come sooner," she grumped and hoisted herself up, coughing from the fumes of bottles that had cracked in the mishap. "My bed was attacking me."

"Oh," Carly muttered, not the least bit empathetic. The two maids looked at each other, then at her oddly. Carly turned to leave the room with them again.

"No," Elizabeth called out. "We have much to do today!"

"But I'm still so sore from packing Sarah's luggage," Carly whined.

"Carly," Elizabeth rolled her eyes, already exhausted though she had just woken up. "I'm going to a ball tonight. It was a last minute invitation and I have to start getting ready. Now!"

"Fine," Carly grumbled and waved to her two friends as they departed. She moved to where Elizabeth's vanity now sat in a pile of parts on the floor. "You made quite a mess for me this morning, haven't you."

"No time for that." Elizabeth waved off. "I have to find a dress, a mask, dress my hair, have my make-up done, shoes, stockings, the works! And all by tonight!"

"Just a minute," Carly held up a finger, a bemused look on her face. "Are we going as Pretty Lady Elizabeth tonight? Or…Other Lady Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth already knew that Carly would be overjoyed with her answer. She began edging towards the water closet to escape the soon to be transforming cloud of excitement. "It's a masquerade ball, you see. I thought I'd go as myself, since Sarah isn't here."

"What," Carly cried with glee, though she obviously heard. Elizabeth hurried the last few steps into the water closet and shut the door firmly behind her. "Oh this is the happiest day of my life!"

Carly quickly sauntered towards Elizabeth's wardrobe, grabbing blindly at one of the hideous gray gowns, laying it out for the day. There was no point in searching for something suitable for Elizabeth to wear in the dressing room. Almost all of the dresses were hideous and all looked the same though they were made of different fabrics, materials and different cuts. And though some did make Elizabeth's figure look better on some days than others, they were still boring. Her Lady wouldn't be noticed in one of those dresses. which was truly their exact purpose.

But tonight, her lady would catch the eye of everyone in the room and then some. She would dance, laugh, and have the night of her life. And when she came home, she would change her mind about her plans and look for a handsome husband and finally end all her antics.

Carly grinned, mischievously. Oh for tonight, she certainly had an idea

ELIZABETH THUNDERED DOWN the steps after dressing for the morning in one of her gray gowns. She hoped that she could find something to eat and quickly so she would be able to get to the stores for what she needed. She would need a lot. A gown, a mask, even slippers. And it would probably take a lot of time; in fact it was probably impossible. She wondered if her taste would still be the same. She'd gotten so accustomed to making things tasteless and out of fashion that she didn't truly trust herself to pick something decent out for a ball.

However, Sarah was fashionable, and she was held in high regards amongst London society. She was absolutely raved about and was practically perfect. If Sarah hadn't brought her entire life's wardrobe on her trip with her, Elizabeth could possibly find something amongst the articles she left?

Oh she hoped not! She'd be a nervous wreck in one of Sarah's garments and she'd be concentrated all night on trying not to ruin it. She never wanted to be as perfect as Sarah. Sarah was put on such a high pedestal by society. Anything she did from wearing dirty slippers to sneezing without covering her mouth was watched and criticized. Elizabeth wanted to go to this ball unnoticed and leave the same as well. She wanted only to observe the life she'd be giving up.

She sighed glumly and entered the main dining room which was quite an enormous and drafty room where two people could have breakfast with each other yet still feel completely alone. Sadly, Sarah never let her test this theory.

"Good Morning," she heard a voice say that startled her. She turned to find Steven standing at the head of the table. She squinted, her vision obscured by the bursting rays of sunlight coming from the panels of windows behind him.

It was quite odd that she was up so early. Usually by the time she awoke, Steven was long gone, going about his business for the day. She would usually eat with Sarah, and never what she wanted because a lady had to keep her figure.

"Good Morning," she replied back, wondering if he could hear her. The room was very large and the head of the table was many yards away from the room's entrance.

"You're up earlier than usual."

"Busy day," she murmured and started for the sideboard.

She felt his eyes on her as she took a plate and piled it with foods that were easy to eat, not really regarding if she would like them or not. Then she took a seat beside him on the long glossy table and in two beats began to devour her food like an ill-bred hound.

"You must be hungry," he commented, his tone shimmering with laughter as he looked to her already half empty plate. She flushed.

"Or," she swallowed, searching for an excuse. "I eat like this all the time. You're never around for breakfast."

"You're right," he smiled. "Sarah's such a morning person. I try to avoid her nonessential chatter in the mornings as best as I can."

"Yes well," Elizabeth murmured more to herself than to anyone else. "That is a good reason." She made a face as she swallowed something she didn't particularly liked then moved it to the edge of her plate.

"You look better this morning," he observed. "More color in your face," Steven told her with a chuckle. "Is this due to our sister's absence as well?"

Her eyes widened and her hand halted before diving back to her plate. She'd been in such a rush that morning that she'd forgotten to powder her face. Well of course she'd forgotten, all that was on her vanity was now on the floor.

"Quite possibly," she gulped and tried to sound casual.

"Hmm," was all he said, and his face disappeared behind his paper.

It was fairly easy to get ready in the morning now that she didn't dress to impress anyone. She would wake up, bathe, having to always remember not to wash her hair though she told Sarah she did when she was asked. She'd then sit at her vanity, over powder her face to make herself as pale as a ghost and then pick out any old dress; there wasn't really any outfit she favored. And then finally, to complete her outfit, she'd pick up her pince-nez, set them high on the bridge of her nose and become a completely different person.

It was a lot easier than what Sarah did in the morning which was devote three hours to getting ready. Sarah would bath, steam her pores, manicure her nails, and wash her hair. Then she would tighten her corset and do her hair in an elaborate and time consuming hairstyle then finally, she would slip into her gown and be finished as well as ever so perfect for the day.

"Did Sarah tell you where she was going by the way," Steven asked, interrupting her thoughts. "I was too excited to ask but now I'm worried."

"Hampshire," Elizabeth fibbed and looked down to her plate. She didn't know whether she should tell Steven that Sarah was keeping things from him. Yesterday, Sarah's behavior was odd. She said nothing catty or backhanded and didn't really boast about her own appearance. It was so strange.

"Who does she know in Hampshire," he queried, lifting a brow. He set his paper down, looking deep in thought.

Elizabeth gulped again and set her fork down, her stomach twisting. Did she mess up Sarah's tale? Did Sarah tell her to tell Steven another place and her true destination was Hampshire. Nervously she lifted her eyes from her plate.

"I think she said something about a rare dressmaker," her tone nervous. "I haven't really a clue about things like that so I didn't pay more attention."

He said nothing, his gaze still set afar as he stayed deep in thought. Elizabeth didn't like this, she still felt small and scrutinized and restless in her chair. She thought about the book that Sarah had given her. She had yet to look at it but she couldn't help if Steven found it and found what was meant for her eyes only.

She coughed, clearing her throat then said "You know Sarah left me a book. She said it had her exact location in it. It's in the drawing room. It's brown with a leather binding."

He glanced to her finally. "Well," he said wiping his mouth with his cloth napkin and pushing his chair back. "Enjoy your day, Lizzie." he smiled down at her.

She tried not gape at him. Only a second ago his expression had been one of great fear and concern. Now he smiled like a groom on his wedding day. "Do you plan to paint today?"

"Yes," she answered, startled. He knew she painted? But he was never around! The only time in the day that she saw Steven was dinner and Sarah hardly gave them a chance to talk.

"Enjoy yourself then."

Smoothly he fastened the button of his coat and walked towards the exit, his steps echoing throughout the room. She watched him leave, saw that he stopped at the entryway. He paused, his body facing the front door; his head turned in the opposite direction and tilted, looking thoughtfully up the stairs. He swiveled then, completely facing the stairs and ascended with a brusque pace.

She looked down to her plate again and didn't really have much of an appetite anymore but she forced down a few bites anyway.

As she ate, she tried to go back to her farthest memory of Steven but she couldn't find any. She didn't have too many memories of her siblings. They had both already been gone by the time she turned 4. They would visit sometimes for Christmas but Steven and Grandfather didn't really get along and argued too often for their visits to be lengthy. Steven had a very serious demeanor always, he'd always been focused on the day he would finally inherit the title. She didn't know much about the gossip that stirred around him but she did wonder why he wasn't married yet.

She heard footsteps thundering down the stairs and looked to the doorway. She watched, her eyes huge, as Steven passed with the book in his hand, his face stricken.

"I may not be home for dinner," she heard him tell the giant butler. "But I'll be home by midnight for sure, with or without Lady Sarah. Call my solicitor and cancel all appointments for the day. Of all the foolish…"

His words were cut short by the shutting of the front door. Elizabeth's mouth fell open, as did many of the servants who were lingering around the main hall. No one had ever seen Steven so disgruntled and he rarely voluntarily canceled any appointments. She pressed a hand to her stomach, feeling ill. What could Sarah have done?

She pushed her chair out and thanked the footman that appeared out of thin air to assist her. Then she took her leave, still stunned by Steven's departure. She slowly climbed the stairs, trying not to listen the buzzing of servants in the front hall.

"My lady," she heard. She snapped her head up. Carly stood at the top of the steps, her eyes twinkling wickedly. She held a large white box at her hip. Elizabeth's eyes went to it and then back to Carly who only grinned and said, "Your dress for the evening."

Carly removed the box from her side and held it out to her. She raised a brow at Carly, who innocently shrugged. Elizabeth climbed to the top of the steps, curious and still shooting Carly a few glances. When she reached the last step, Carly presented her the box and oddly Elizabeth's heart began to race. Cautiously, she set both hands on each side of the lid and lifted it, a little frightened of what she might find.

She stared at the tissue paper, her heartbeat ringing in her ear as Carly smiled encouragingly at her. She dropped the lid and pushed the paper aside. Suddenly, she froze, her breath caught.

She gasped loudly and lifted the stunning gown from the box, fighting for breath as she swooned from its beauty. Her eyes followed the crimson silk skirts to the ground as it took its time cascading to the floor.

"It was my mother's," Carly explained, her speech hazy to Elizabeth's ears, "from a long time ago. I kept it but I'll never wear it. So you should. "

"It's simply beautiful," Elizabeth marveled.

The gown was more than beautiful, it was magical. It was risqué but in a way that Elizabeth didn't mind and it was covered in silk and feathers. The dress was a very bright crimson with a strapless bodice, covered in sparking stones. The skirts were long and of a soft red feathers. She turned the dress to view the back and admired the long sprawling train made of red and gold vulture feathers.

"Oh, Carly," Elizabeth breathed, her hands shaking. "I couldn't possibly- I- I-" She looked to Carly helplessly but Carly only smiled back.

"So we're in agreement. You'll wear it."

Elizabeth didn't dare say a word and turned her attention back to the enchanting piece of art in her hands.

"Good," Carly grinned. "Now all you need is a mask."

IT WAS TIME, Nikolas thought as they walked to the ballroom, for Jason to get his first taste of English society. Not that English society always tasted very good. But Nikolas smiled to himself; it did have its upsides.

He looked over his choice of dress for the night, brushing dust from the arms of his maroon velvet dress-coat as they walked towards the ballroom. He wore an outfit that was rather simple for his usual self; simple tan fitted pants, a black silk waistcoat, black cravat and a gold watch-chain as his only accessory. But he wouldn't mind that people would gasp and wonder why the usually extravagant Duke of Wyndemere had downplayed his fashion for the evening for he had been having much more fun dressing Jason.

And he had to say it himself; he'd done bloody well. Jason would certainly melt more than a few female hearts tonight. With Nikolas's help, Jason was absolute ballroom perfection. He was dressed in an extremely fine black dress-coat made of expensive wool though Nikolas didn't say because he knew Jason would protest. His trousers were long and tailored, also black to match his jacket. His waistcoat, white, made of Nikolas's favorite fabric, taffeta, which made the coat glimmer in any shade of light. He looked like a true gentleman, white gloves and all. In fact he looked like he could hold a chair in the House of Lords.

Which didn't surprise Nikolas really; there was a mysterious underlying of elegance to Jason that he really didn't understand. His posture was great, he had perfect table manners, and his speech was well-educated, but there was something so easy about the way he executed each that made Nikolas think he was definitely of good breeding. Someone certainly had to be looking for him out there.

They entered the ballroom together, both seeing it for the first time. But Nikolas wouldn't be as surprised as Jason, for once you've seen one decorated English ballroom, you've seen them all. He watched closely as Jason's shoulders shifted to fit through the door frame and then followed him into the room, barely containing his laughter at Jason's reaction.

Once they entered, Jason's steps slowed and his jaw dropped, literally, his eyes bulging from his head as they swung around the room.

"Do you like it," Nikolas asked cheekily.

"It's," Jason cleared his throat, but he couldn't hide the shock. "Magnificent."

The room was originally gold; gold floor tiles, gold pillars, gold paneling on the wall. But the decorators accentuated the gold as well as incorporated some deep reds and blacks. Nikolas eyed around the room, spotting intricate brass candle holders and new velvet red curtains that hung in the frames of doors and openings. The grand staircase was still brass but each individual step was mirrored. Involuntarily, the corner of his mouth hiked into a smile as peered around the room. All looked well, he thought, it would be an eventful evening.

"I want to thank you again for allowing me to host this," Nikolas said, grinning then grasped one of Jason's shoulders, snapping him back to attention. Jason nodded awkwardly in acknowledgement as Nikolas led him to the buffet tables. He lifted two glasses from a prepared tray, and looked around hoping not to see any of his servants, who for all his worth and nobility still chastised him as though her were a small boy.

"Here," He handed Jason a glass, his eyes still on their look out. "Cheers."

"To what," Jason asked, putting the cool rim to his lips.

Nikolas thought for a moment, and then raised his glass, "To new friends and your ballroom dancing."

Jason laughed and raised his glass in agreement. Then he took a long sip of the champagne, yearning for it to put an end to his nerves for the night.

"Drinking already I see," they heard a disgustingly honey sweet voice say from behind them.

Jason paused, the champagne still swishing in his mouth. His eyes slid to Nikolas, peeking at him from their corners and saw that Nikolas was already ticking with agitation. He swallowed though it felt more like a gulp, and turned, Nikolas doing the same, almost simultaneously.

Of course they already knew who it was. It was Nikolas's wife, or better known by her nickname, "The Barren Lady Courtney". They turned and found her smiling at them sweetly but her eyes judgmental and sinister.

"Well, hello there, My Barren Lady Courtney," Nikolas cooed cheerfully. He smiled at her, a large toothy, painful grin that even made Jason wince. He took one jolly skip forward, making Courtney look taken aback. He lifted one of her clenched fist from her side and bowed, bending lowly before it. He lifted his dark head, another bright smile for her wide eyes, and then he took his champagne flute and, quite cruelly, hovered it over her hand and tipped it over, pouring out most of its content.

The gold liquid slid down her bare pale arm and to the floor, some splattering onto her violet skirt. Nikolas only smiled and tilted his head remorsefully.

"You beast," she practically roared, her face cherry red, veins popping from her neck as she resisted to the urge to do whatever she truly wanted to do to him. Jason didn't even begin to want to know.

"Now, Now My Barren Lady Courtney! You didn't think I could possibly kiss that scaly hand of yours, did you," Nikolas snorted and moved away from her to lean against the table. He crossed his arms over his chest and arrogantly shook his head. "That champagne touched my lips, so I do believe I entirely paid you a compliment. I'll take a thank you."

"Oh you pathetic drunkard," Courtney shrieked, lifting her skirt to inspect the stain, then shot Nikolas an evil glare, her face twisting quite unbecomingly. Though the glance wasn't meant for Jason, he still felt the heat of it.

"A drunkard," Nikolas echoed, his brows arched, completely at ease under the attack of her eyes. He pressed a finger to his lips, mulling something over in his head then said, "You haven't seen anything yet. If I am to get through any kind of evening in the same room as you, it should the whiskey I turn to, not this flirty bitch of a champagne." He lifted the flute to his crinkled nose.

Courtney gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth. "Nikolas," her voice muffled. "You are so rude and in front of our honored guest! Who, by the by, I still have yet to meet"

Her eyes moved to Jason and just like that, all offense at Nikolas's comment melted away. In her eyes now, there was nothing left but the sparkling gleam of seduction, and it was powerful, he couldn't help but flinch. He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze then politely smiled at her though still a bit scared.

"Oh," he heard Nikolas sigh as he lifted another glass from the tray. "Here we go again."

Courtney gracefully moved forward and in front of Nikolas, her large violet skirt and her dressed yellow hair blocking Jason's view of him. She smiled at Jason, quite chipper, her eyes feigning innocence. "Good Evening, Mr. Morgan." She held her hand out; her fingers doused in jewels and lifted a brow quite seductively. Jason bowed and tried not to gawk at her. But he could not, she was so openly brazen, it was shocking. "I am the Duchess of Wyndemere."

"God's sick joke," he heard Nikolas mutter under his breath.

"I must say that you are looking so very handsome tonight," she winked. "But worry not, I'm married. I won't snatch you up. But I'm sure you'll find a number of loose women tonight. They're the only kind my Nikolas cohorts with."

Jason, who was just taking a much needed sip from his glass of champagne, choked and fell into a coughing frenzy at that statement. He looked to Nikolas for help, but his friend only lifted the corner of his mouth flashed him a sympathetic half-smile. He looked back to Lady Courtney who blinked at him with the innocents of a doe.

"I never got to thank you for saving our Spencer," Courtney remarked, moving closer, practically pressing her body against his. He felt her warmth, smelt her perfumes, and felt the tickling movements of her skirt. But what really horrified him was that she did this purposely and all right in front of her husband! She looked up at him and fluttered her long eyelashes, waiting for his response.

"That's quite alright, your grace," Jason said and eased away and she frowned, probably disappointed. "I need no thanks, I would have done what anyone would have done."

"Oh," Courtney muttered and looked thoughtfully to the floor. Then her head sprang up and she advanced once more. "But I'm sure you could think of something that you'd like in return."

He shifted again, looked away from her seductive eyes and smile, then said, "The ball is enough, thank you."

"Well, let me know me if you change your mind," she said, dubiously and winked at him. His eyes widened. This woman never gave up! "Oh, it looks like our guests are arriving."

She ambled off across the room and towards a group of new people who wore dark capes and masks. Jason sighed in relief once she was gone then looked to Nikolas.

"Your wife," he started then inhaled, his breath coming in as a hiss, "is very…"

"Barren, my boy," Nikolas said with great feeling, "Just say barren."

Jason nodded, defeated and they both looked to the grand staircase. A lot more people were arriving now. Beautiful woman with giant hair and giant gowns, like Courtney, were beginning their descent down the steps, covered in glinting jewels, masks hiding their face. They were each escorted by a man, usually heavy and with funny, odd shaped facial hair, dressed in black and their faces completely covered to Jason by their masks.

He realized that they were all more than strangers to him now. Their identities were hidden and they were all a mystery. He couldn't judge them now, they were all whoever they wanted to be and he could be too.

He turned to Nikolas, who was tying on his own mask. The mask was white and cut diagonally across his face, only revealing one cheek and his mouth.

"How do I look," Nikolas asked after he was finished.

"Like I hardly even know you," Jason laughed.

There were so many people coming in now. More, he thought, than one person could know. "How many people here are your friends," he asked.

"Everyone here is my friend. A Duke has a lot of friends," Nikolas explained. "Each of these people here tonight would willingly pick my nose, comb my chest hair, and kiss my bottom. But I only know two people in this world who would go to hell before doing anything like that. And that's why they're the best friends I've got."

Jason looked around, wondering if he could tell who those two people were. Anyone who befriended Nikolas would have to be as mad as he was. But no one looked anything but dark and mysterious. It was quite annoying to be barred from the one instinct he fell on the most in recent weeks, his good judgment.

"Will they be here tonight?"

"Yes they will. In fact, I think I spot one of my dear friends right now."

They both looked to the staircase to see what seemed to be a pretty rare gentleman. They watched as he stepped towards a young lady, towering her and her father in height, and then bent over her hand. He was a different kind of man, Jason noticed, for he was not dressed like everyone else in the room. He had an olive skin tone and long black hair that fall to his neck but it was pulled back and tied with a bow at the nape. He wore no waist coat, no kid gloves and when he picked up the lady's hand, she gasped at the fact that she was touching his bare fingers.

He stood again and held out his arm to her but her father pulled her back and set her firmly away from him though the Lady stilled seemed mystified. He simply shrugged, smiled at her kindly, and became the first to descend down the steps on their own.

"Shall we watch him try to escape the Barren Lady Courtney," Nikolas haggled.

Jason looked to Lady Courtney. It was impossible. She was standing with her back turned to the entrance and rather comfortably talking with a group of girls. But he didn't look for long for he worried that she would feel his eyes on her and think of it as something more.

He moved his eyes to the man again who had just taken his last step and was peering around the room. And then just like that, Nikolas had been right, for Lady Courtney somehow managed to appear at the man's side and it all happened so quickly. The man grimaced as she batted her eyelashes up at him and placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. He tried to deflect her but she latched on thoroughly and gave him a smile that was more stern than seductive.

"That's probably Jagger," Nikolas commented. "Zander would never let that happen."

An old man walked past Courtney and the man, a cane in hand and the man found his opportunity. With lightning speed, he edged Courtney towards the old guy, passed her off and fled just as quickly.

Nikolas and Jason did not hold back as they hooted with laughter from the corner of the room. They were utterly ungraceful and loud, with backs bent and tears in their eyes were how Nikolas's friends found them.

"What's so funny," someone inquired. They turned. It was another masked man but it wasn't the same one who narrowly evaded Courtney.

"Jagger," Nikolas queried. The man nodded his head. "But I thought that was you…"

He turned back to look towards the entrance then looked back to his friend. "Anyway, some man just barely escaped The Barren Lady."

"I'm just joking with you," the man said, releasing a suddenly powerful Scottish brogue. "Tis' me. And ye said I couldn't be an Englishmen"

Nikolas rolled his eyes. "I can barely understand you, Zander. Speak your phony English again, please and thank you."

"Who is this," Zander motioned towards Jason.

"The honored guest."

"Huh," Zander said and held out his hand to Jason. He lifted his mask, revealing his face, and smiled. "Nice tae make yer acquaintance. The Laird Mundale at yer service, but ye kin call me Zander."

He didn't look as someone Jason pictured the Duke of Wyndemere to be friends with. He wasn't polished or super elegant but he wasn't ugly and scruffy either. He was just clean and simple. Like someone who just strolled in from the field.

Jason shook his hand and smiled. "Jason."

"Just Jason?"

"Yes, just Jason."

"Well." Zander said seriously. "Twas a very brave thing ye did fur the young laird. We're all very thankful."

"How did you get in here without me seeing you," Nikolas asked abruptly, saving Jason from feeling awkward.

He didn't really like being thanked, even if it was as genuine as Zander's and his was for Jason felt it deep in his bones. It was just that he didn't really save Spencer, another him did. And he was a different person from the person he was before he hit his head. And he couldn't help but wonder, would he still do it now? Would he risk himself to save a stranger?

Zander smirked at Nikolas's question which only annoyed Nikolas more. "I have me ways."

"Your ways being the back way?"

"Yup." His face fell, not feeling as clever as he thought. "I came in through the kitchen."

"And they let you," Nikolas asked again in disbelief.

"Yup," Zander chuckled. "I just cried out that I was a bastard and they left me alone."

Nikolas's eyes widened. "They didn't even ask whose bastard child you were?"

"Nope."

Nikolas sunk back in shock. "And I thought my servants were nosier than that!"

"Wyndemere," a man growled. It was the masked man from before who had barely escaped Courtney. He was standing right behind them, exhaling raggedly and glaring pointedly at Nikolas.

Jason tightened, feeling protective over Nikolas, not just because Nikolas was his host, but because he saw Nikolas as a friend, his first and only, and he didn't like the way this man was looking at him. And though he might befriend Zander and other people tonight as well, Nikolas would hold a special place. He was sure of it.

He liked Nikolas and did enjoy his company. He was funny, though sometimes over-the-top dramatically. He was a pretty good father to Spencer, who Jason also felt protective over. And Spencer certainly needed Nikolas with a mother like Lady Courtney. Nikolas was just an overall good person. He treated his servants like family, and the poor like humans. It was why Jason felt so at ease around him. He didn't feel like he owed Nikolas any kind of special attention.

He realized that, while looking over everybody in the room tonight to see if they looked like the friends of a Duke, he never took a look at himself. Did he look like the friend of a Duke? They both walked, talked, and did most things the same. He wasn't rich and didn't have the word Lord in front of his name, yet he was at a ball tonight where everyone was to pay him respect, even if they didn't want to. Would he fit in dressed in Nikolas's clothes or would they all see him as an imposter?

"I came this close to having to deal with your wife," the man spat. "Don't you know to keep her in a locked cage and not at the bottom of the main staircase?"

"Ah, Jagger," Nikolas grinned. "I knew it was you even through the mask."

"Did you," The man raged and stalked up angrily to Nikolas.

"Yes, you're the only person I know who visibly exhales angry puffs of air," Nikolas remarked. "And that Papa Bear vehemently kept his daughter away from you."

Jagger flashed a confident grin. "I'll get her later."

"Care for a glass," Nikolas asked him, drinking from his own glass of champagne. "You'll need it after escaping the Barren Lady Courtney."

Jason's muscles relaxed as he watched the man called Jagger slump his shoulders pathetically and accept a glass from Nikolas. He sighed; Nikolas was in no immediate danger. Tonight, he was in the presence of people who ran on good grace and manners. Everything would be fine. Still, he couldn't help feeling a little bit paranoid.

Jagger let out a breath, lifted the glass to his lips then suddenly paused.

"Where's the special man hiding," he asked.

"Right here," Nikolas motioned towards Jason with his flute.

Jagger lowered the glass from his lips and forgot the drink all together. "Really," he droned, a critical eye glancing Jason up and down. It seemed something did not meet his satisfaction. "I'm Harkness or Your Grace," he mumbled with an impolite wink.

"Jason." He held his hand out but it was rudely ignored. Tersely, instead of shaking Jason's hand, Jagger lifted the drink back to his lips, took a short sip then lowered the glass again, a keen glaze falling over his eyes. Jason's hand returned to his side.

"You must be very displeased with the reward Nikolas has offered," He maintained. "A ball isn't worthy of a hero….unless there's money involved later."

"Well," Nikolas chipped in. "You haven't met Jason. He's absolutely allergic to gratitude. He literally lost his life saving my son and still he doesn't want anything from me."

"Hmm," Jagger hummed and cocked his head to the side. "Well maybe our hero wouldn't mind taking some money from me."

Jason stared, dazed. He was being attacked without so much as a nasty look or a suspicious brow. Jagger's manner hinted nothing; no insinuation, no belittling at all. Jagger disliked him, it emanated from him and he meant it to so that all could feel it. But it was seamless; he up kept his demeanor and that was what made Jason feel like shivering most of all.

Jagger reached into the pocket of his dark pants and held up a finger to the rest of the group, the ice in his glass clinking as he did. The sound filled the tense silence amongst them and lifted Jason from his haze of thoughts.

"Thought I'd show the proper gratitude for your… deed," He tittered and pulled out a colossal wad of paper bills from his pocket. He held it out to Jason, the insult slashing right into him, cutting off his breath. He stared at the ugly green and felt ill at the sight of it. "Go on take it. You may find this hard to believe but most people in this room think me a downright ass."

"And I am in full agreement with them," Nikolas strangled, red faced. "Leave Jagger, now!"

"I'm just honoring our…hero."

Nikolas glanced to him, apologetic and Jason spoke finally after some of the heat left his face. "I don't want anything from anybody," he addressed them all. "I'm not trying to be anyone's equal. A little boy was almost severely hurt and there should be no reward," he growled through his teeth. "All that should happen now is a way of making sure that Spencer is never in danger like that again."

"And what? You sticking around is that way," Jagger retorted. "You're practically a Duke living comfy in Nikolas's castle!"

"Well, he lost his memory! His past," Nikolas pointed out. "I can't very well just throw him out on the street!"

"But I would go," Jason interrupted. "What Nikolas has done for me surely equals what I've done for him. We owe each other nothing so put your money away."

Jagger's arm hesitated, his eyes traveling between the red faces of Nikolas and Zander then back to the solemn Jason. His lip twitched and he sighed, finally letting his arm down and placed the money back in his pocket.

"I apologize," he broke, his entire stance changed and the apology very much genuine. "You're not the thief I suspected. You see I've been swindled, quite a bit. If you're not asking anything of Nikolas, I shouldn't badger you for your reasons. I should honor your gracious request."

Jagger again lifted his arm and held his hand out. This time, nothing was in them, nothing but a silent request for peace. Jason nodded and shook his hand heartily. He wouldn't dwell on this exchange, but the insult still burned deep inside him.

"Now," Jagger grimaced. "That was a hideous conversation. Shall we change the topic to something a little more light. Say, the miraculous head of air descending the stairs right this moment."

Jagger smirked and they all turned to the stairs again. A lot more people had arrived without Jason noticing. The ballroom was practically full. Everyone was dressed so mysteriously. They wore dark colors and large mask that barely revealed a fraction of their faces.

He watched as a light brown haired woman took her turn down the steps. She held the arm of a weak looking boy, who appeared to be stifling his laughter. And Jason knew why and also realized why Jagger called her empty headed. The woman was dressed appropriately for the event but there was one little mishap in her attire. As she came down the steps, she held a large mask, big enough to cover her entire face, backwards. The mask was propped on a stick but everyone in the ballroom saw nothing but the white insides of the mask and the few accessories of fabric that sprang from the top. Did she not notice the difference and feel of the fabric or was she only trying to be humorous?

Quite a few people snickered from the bottom of the steps if she was trying to make them laugh. And there were even some who pointed and whispered. But she noticed nothing and continued down the long stairwell.

"Who is that," Nikolas asked Jagger.

"Miss Emily Bowen," Jagger told him. "She's a dull bulb. Beautiful though."

"Aren't all dull bulbs bonny," Zander muttered.

"Yes," Jagger permitted though Zander was being sarcastic, "Better for me to see to my affairs and leave."

"I've never conversed with her a day in my life," Nikolas spoke aloud but not necessarily to anyone.

"You'll remember her when she takes off the mask."

"The lass isn't stupid," Zander protested. "But she does have troubles grasping the normal functions of life."

Jagger blinked then said incredulously, "Did he just listen to what he said? Or is his ass too far from his ears to understand himself clearly."

The Bowen girl made her final step from the stairs. She curtsied before Lady Courtney and raised one again. As her escort bowed, Lady Courtney seemed to take pity on the girl and leaned forward to whisper into her ear. The girls mask flew from her face in seconds, revealing her beauty.

"Wow," Nikolas stammered.

"Exactly," Jagger murmured.

Miss Bowen was indeed beautiful as Jagger had claimed. She was fair skinned with glossy, amber colored hair. She had big brown eyes and long, dramatic eyelashes that cast shadows on her lightly rose tinted cheeks. She flashed Lady Courtney a blazing white smile of thanks and returned the black and pink diamond shaped mask properly to her face.

The men chuckled and their eyes followed her as she disappeared behind a row of gold pillars.

"I might as well make the introductions now," Nikolas announced.

"Yes let's get that going," Jagger cried with a great abundance of excitement. The men blinked at him. "To keep this night young," he smoothly covered. "Go!"

He flicked his hand and Nikolas and Jason began moving towards the center of the ballroom. Jason's heart clamored as they walked. People's talking quieted and everyone turned to not just to stare, but to gawk. They reached the center of the ballroom and Jason ogled the sea of mask in fear. Nikolas gave him a reassuring glance then raised his flute to the room, the glass catching a stream of light and twinkling before everyone's eyes.

THE CARRIAGE DOOR finally opened to announce their arrival at Wyndemere. The castle was massive but very old. The large beige bricks that made up the mansion's walls were cracked and worn but in the right spots, adding to its beauty. Yellow lights illuminated from every window of the castle into the night and cracked marble statues of roman gods lined the long walkway, holding lit torches to guide the way.

"Well," Carly said, her eyes moving away from the entrance and to Elizabeth who was still staring in awe. "Your night awaits."

Elizabeth looked to her and smiled. It had been a hectic ride to Wyndemere. First they had to leave London in enough time to catch the boats; the ride was very short for the Isle wasn't so far off the coast of England and very close to London itself. Still, Carly hadn't liked the boat ride, at all, and was still a few shades green from the adventure.

Waiting for Carly to return to a better color had put them a little behind the clock. But Elizabeth didn't mind. Being late made it easier for her to sneak in without being noticed. It had taken them at least an hour to get to the ball which meant it would probably take them the same amount of time to get back.

"Remember, Carly. 11 o'clock," Elizabeth reminded. "I really don't wish to explain to Steven why I attended a ball unchaperoned.

"Right!"

"I mean it, Carly," Elizabeth warned.

"I will be here," Carly rolled her eyes. "Now go!"

"Okay," she mumbled nervously and stepped out of carriage, her silk skirt sliding to the ground with a thud behind her. She looked to the entrance, not really making out the door due to the blinding lights and bit her lip. Something fluttered about inside her stomach, making her more nervous. She turned back to Carly.

"How do I look?"

It was a pointless question. Carly would tell her she looked amazing as always. But it had been so long since she'd been self-conscious.

"There are no words for how you look tonight, my Lady," Carly told her, her eyes glistening. A tender grin stretched across her face and she held a mask out to Elizabeth.

It was black with shiny decorated beading around the rim. Black feathers stood out from the side and long black ribbon flew from each end of the mask so Elizabeth could tie it securely around her head. They had bought it from the store that morning, after Carly had shown Elizabeth the dress. And when she saw it in the glass case at the shop, she had to have it. It seemed that everything about tonight fell into place, it all felt so perfect.

She reached for the mask but Carly stopped her hand and took it into her own. She turned Elizabeth's hand over and gently placed the mask in her palm.

"There," Carly whispered softly. She lifted her wet gray eyes and looked into Elizabeth's. "Now go." With one last squeeze, they let go of each other and Carly closed the door. She gave her directions to the driver then waved to Elizabeth as they sped off.

"It's just a ball," Elizabeth muttered to herself now that she was alone. So exasperated with herself she gained enough courage to turn around. She took a wild step, the lights playing tricks on her eyes, and crashed into something soft.

"Oh excuse me," she said to the woman she crashed into when she caught herself.

"Oh it's fine," the lady excused, not even brushing herself off. "These damned lights."

Elizabeth chuckled, some of the nerves about the night expelling as she did. She smiled to the woman and walked away and into the castle.

"Who was that," Jacks asked Skye when he found her staring after the person that had almost toppled her over.

"I don't know," she told him, "but she seems oddly familiar."

"She was very beautiful," Jacks remarked.

"Oh," Skye scoffed, "so you noticed that, did you! This is a masquerade ball Jax for crying out loud! The mask are supposed to create an air of mystery not entice married men!"

"Lord," Jax muttered and lifted his wife hand so that her mask would cover her face. "Well you with your mask on is far more enticing than your angry face right now."

"ATTENTION, ATTENTION," NIKOLAS shouted as he clinked his raised glass. He didn't actually have to do it for all eyes in the golden ballroom were already on him.

"Welcome to Wyndemere," He said and lowered his glass. "I appreciate you all sailing to my home to help me honor someone who is now very close to my heart. It shall be a wonderful night! And it'll give you each an opportunity to get to know this man."

He pointed to Jason and all in the room "ah"ed though Jason shifted uncomfortably.

"This," he continued. "is my hero. He has no idea who he is, where he's from, what his family or his past is like. He is good, he is serious, and he has done the greatest deed for me that I could ever ask for in all my life as a nobleman!" He paused, the room completely silent, and took a shaky breath. "This man hurled himself into an ocean of harsh, unknown, waters to save my young son, my heir!"

Everyone stayed quiet except for the few gasp as the atmosphere turned somber. Many lowered their mask as he spoke, their expressions stunned. He hadn't told his guest why they were honoring someone only that they were and they had come, in large amounts, and now they all knew. They knew what a failure he was.

"He almost killed himself in the process but he reached my son just in time. Another minute later, the news could have been fatal! My son lives and breathes because of this man. I am able to love him with all my heart because of this man. And I can continue to think about our future together because of this man. He did hurt himself in the process. He was unconscious for some time and when he awoke, he held no memories of the rescue or the past. Still, he asks for no repayment and requests no gratitude. He stands here before you today my hero, my friend, and the type of man I and all men should aspire to be!"

He paused again and looked to Jason with sad smile. "My guest," he announced. "I introduce you all to Mr. Jason Morgan!"

As expected the claps thundered through the halls, deafening all sound to Nikolas's ears. He searched for a glass to drink from, to drown the loss of his respect by his colleagues. He stepped away from Jason, allowing his peers to swarm in, offering their hands and their admiration. He ducked away from the scene of Jason overwhelmed with people, shaking hands left and right.

Just as he almost reached the columns that he would hide behind for the rest of the night, he heard the room fall back into silence. Fearful, he swung around, seeing red, hoping someone hadn't said something rude to Jason. But that didn't appear to be the case at all.

He, just like everyone else, instantly froze in place when his eyes fell upon the vision at the top of the steps. A woman had entered his ballroom and had single-handedly cast a complete hush on all around him. The music had stopped playing, the people had stopped chattering, and even Jason was no longer focused on meeting people.

All eyes were glued on this exotic beauty in her red dress and black mask. Her eyes striking, a saturated dark blue that rippled like firelight in water. They danced around the room, searching before halting on Jason.

Nikolas looked back to him and saw that he too was absolutely spellbound. And in that second, a gleeful feeling struck the pit of his stomach for his friend. Jason was going to find the love of his life tonight! He was sure of it!


	7. Chapter 6

**Some Enchanted Evening: Chapter 6**

_"We'd be so less fragile If we're made from metal and our hearts from iron and our minds from steel"_

Silence. The room was completely silent. No music played, no words were spoken, and not a skirt was rustled. Elizabeth furrowed her brows, completely puzzled by the lack of sound, and gripped nervously at the soft feathers of her dress. Why, she pondered, why was it so quiet?

She peered down the long winding staircase to the people below her. Was this a joke, she wondered, a dream? How could they all just stand there, silent? She explored the bizarre creatures who stood frozen at the bottom of the steps before her and might have chuckled if the situation weren't so odd.

It seemed that she'd left England completely on her way to Wyndemere. The carriage driver must have gotten lost, seeing as she was now in some strange mystical jungle. The nature below her did not resemble that of the gentry she was so used to. The nobles of her country were never silent, they spoke quick and often. They rambled about politics and complained about their lives. Words spilled from their lips every second of everyday with tales of their experiences and ventures. Yet this gentry, in this new place she'd found, hadn't a word to say about anything. Just silence.

She couldn't help her smile and allowed a wide loopy grin to stretch across her face as she peered into the weird scene. The nobility from her country would never look so unique. To her, they'd always looked the same. Rules and strict formalities had always made sure of that. In fact, in every breath of Sarah's wasted teachings, it was stressed that it was the individual's duty to conform to the ways of society. Yet, in this room, she couldn't pick out a single characteristic to conform to.

In this jungle, every face was replaced with a mysterious mask, each vastly different from another. Some faces were elaborated with dripping glass beads and feathers and lace and rubies, while others were more simple and modest. There was no hierarchy of beauty amongst these faces and no way to tell whose station was above the rest. These creatures were left to exist wildly in the silence, in a place where there were no words for judgement and no place for outcast.

Oh how she craved to paint this silence that she'd discovered. In fact, she'd never wanted to paint so badly in her life. From the top of the stairs, she took in as much as she could, sketching the crowd of people on an imaginary canvas in her head, drawing circles for their gaped mouths and large dark pupils for their wide shocked eyes. She poured heaps of bold color onto this canvas, brushing hysterically, forming this masterpiece before sound returned and the silence was cruelly ripped from her.

S-s-sound, her mind stammered.

She inhaled sharply, veering her gaze and clenching down on her jaw, becoming rigid as the anxiety of the ball crashed back in. How had she forgotten about the ball? She cursed her mind, cursed the vivid imagination that blinded her, cursed the wild creativity that comforted her. This silence was no newfound jungle, it was England, standing before her, silent, which could only mean one thing.

She took a step backwards, her intent set on bolting from the from the room when suddenly she froze, becoming enveloped in a completely different kind of silence. Elizabeth halted, her mind incapable of forming thoughts, her heart no longer pulsing resoundingly within her body. Her eyes widened, growing larger and larger as she slowly lowered her gaze back down the winding staircase, fleeing now, to a place where there was no sound at all, only crushing blue silence.

SHE'D NEVER SEEN such eyes, eyes that were as blue as a cloudless sky, eyes that could dash thoughts from others minds and ignite warmth into others bodies. Elizabeth shuddered and gulped as the eyes pressed on. They coaxed and beckoned, commanding her to advance into the room, ordering her to descend down the stairs.

But no matter how compelling, Elizabeth knew better than to trust those eyes. Those eyes belonged to a man, a very large and frightening man, who stood in the center of the ballroom, staring up at her as she gawked at him. She hadn't noticed him before but he was the only one who wore no mask, leaving his entire face to her wide scrutinizing eyes.

As she brushed her gaze along the hard lines of his handsome face, her heart dropped, falling into the silence yet again. He was radiating, golden like the sun, emanating flames within her as her eyes moved over him. His skin held a smooth deep golden color as if his body retained every beam of sunlight that had ever fallen upon his face. His straw colored hair had been tightly pulled away from his face, allowing only a single strand to rest freely against his forehead.

Fire roared in her ears, spreading through her veins as sparks flared from their clashing gazes. She bit her bottom lip and attempted to withdraw into herself, trying to sort through her thoughts, return the noise, and gain composure of her body. She snaked her eyes back to him again and found him raising two sandy brows as he stared up at her, expectantly.

Elizabeth drew in ragged breath and shakily dropped her gaze to the steps. She no longer had control of her limbs; heat melted her bones, seared her muscles, branded her feet, kindling her on this scorching path towards him. She took a wobbly step, her mind still cloaked in the silence and snapped her gaze to her slippers to regain her balance.

But when she looked down, she caught a glimpse of something and lost her breath, her eyes stretching as she met the gaze of a ghost!

Suddenly, sound crashed back into the room, shattering the silence! Music swirled, voices buzzed, and glasses clanked! Elizabeth could hear the audible sound of her heart pounding and her breath raging as she stared at this ghost.

The ghost was a woman, dressed in a bold crimson, her face hidden by an intricate black mask. But she'd know this woman anywhere, she knew her look, that unmistakable gleam in her eye. She knew how naive this woman could be, knew she'd never experienced pain, had never been taught caution.

Elizabeth trailed her gaze down the rest of the stairwell, watching as the ghost broke into repeated reflections. Pain soared from every direction, coloring her sight red. What had she almost done, her mind sounded, shouting now after having been silent for so long. She had no idea what she'd intended to do in the heat of that previous moment but she didn't dare look back up. She knew that if she did, it would be her downfall and nothing would be able to stop the fire he caused from reducing her to ashes.

"OH MR. MORGAN," the voices prattled and called behind him but he couldn't pay them any mind.

The last of the flames were extinguishing within him, cooling by a painful frost. He winced, jabbed by dejection.

A moment ago, he hadn't been able to breath anything but bright red fire. He'd been consumed by her, whisked away by a phoenix at the top of the stairs. He was still memorized, captivated by that dark curly hair and that pale diamond skin. He'd watched her, trembling with glee as her eyes fell on him, brushing along his features like a fingertip.

She'd been about to leave when she spotted him. The ball had awkwardly stayed hushed as she stood atop the stairs; men had gawked, women had glared and he had begged endlessly with his eyes, pleading with her to stay. And she had, he thought happily, as he'd watched her take the first step down the grand staircase.

He'd grinned, knowing that she'd felt the pull and raking of his eyes, glad that she had allowed herself to be carried by it. But then she'd halted, straightening her posture and configuring her lips into a chilling line. He'd probed with his gaze, concentrating on getting her to look back at him once more but she hadn't. Instead, she'd floated down the rest of the steps, frigidly, no longer this uninhibited vision above him.

He sighed, watching her now as she curtsied primly before Nikolas's wife.

"Mr. Morgan," The voices cried again as hands thumped at his shoulders and clawed at his arms, crowding in, blocking his view of her.

"Mr. Morgan," A highly shrill voice pierced his ears, causing him to flinch. He quickly glanced down in front him, catching sight of the owner of that voice.

"I would just like to thank you so much for saving the future of Wyndemere," A lady beamed seductively up at him.

He bit back a grimace as a lovely older woman with beautiful blonde hair and a bright white smile came into his view. A wanton glimmer shone from her eyes, almost as frightening as that of Lady Courtney's.

"The Wyndemere title means so much to this country," She continued with dimpled cheeks, placing a gloved hand on his arm. He flinched once again. As lovely as she was, her voice, good god, it pained him. "We'd all hate to see it leave the Cassidines!"

"You're welcome," he mumbled hastily, glancing over her head and back towards the staircase.

His spirits immediately took a plunging dive. Besides Lady Courtney no stood the lady in the crimson dress who had captivated his attentions. Instead, a new pretty young lady had taken the place, dressed completely and chastely in white as she curtsied deeply before the duchess.

He felt the jab of rejection once more, clenching his jaw as he pondered what he could have done to cause her to disappear. He hadn't mistaken the look of longing in her eyes. The sparks that flared, the heat they'd exchanged, it had drawn her into the room and him to her. Yet, she hadn't sought him out the second she'd reach the landing of the staircase as he'd expected, instead she'd fled. Jason reared his eyes around the room, vigilantly searching for her red feathers, as more voices clamored in his direction.

"You know," the lady spoke again, the pierce octave of his voice trouncing all others and infringing upon his search. "I would love to have to you over for a dinner party," she moved closer, batting her eyelashes as the crowd pushed behind them. "I'm Felicia–"

"Excuse me," he interrupted abruptly, masking his irritation as he hastily skirted past her and away from the shouting crowd.

"Well I never," He heard the shrill voice say as he bounded towards Lady Courtney.

He'd intended to ask Lady Courtney to point him in the direction of the woman he was looking for but before he could reach her, he'd slowed himself and thought better of it. He'd experienced enough uncomfortable wanton flirting for one night and none at all with the woman of his choosing.

"See anyone interesting?"

He groaned irritably and snapped his eyes shut, then swung himself around.

"No," he clipped, sweeping the distress and annoyance from his mind as he placed a dispassionate expression upon his face.

"Liar," Nikolas cracked with a smirk, offering Jason one of the two champagne flutes he held in his hand. However, Jason declined, agitated that Nikolas had seen so easily through his masquerade.

He watched Nikolas down the first flute of champagne then watched him down the second. When he was finished, Nikolas stifled a burp, placed the two flutes on a passing tray and smiled smugly up at Jason, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"So," Nikolas drawled, grinning.

Jason blinked.

"Shall we," Nikolas smiled, sweeping an arm out towards the ballroom.

But Jason didn't so much as move.

"Ugh," Nikolas grumped, his smile falling as he shook his head. He grabbed another flute off a tray and without so much as another look at his friend, plunged himself into the crowded ballroom, knowing that if Jason had any sense at all, he'd follow.

ELIZABETH SPILLED SUDDENLY into the space behind the monstrous pillars of the Wyndemere ballroom. Her eyes slammed shut as her hand found her bustling heart, her lungs panting as she leaned herself against a solid gold beam.

She bit down on her jaw, squeezing her eyes shut as she took deep gasps of air, hoping to chase away the assault of her own thoughts. She should have never come! She should have known that this ball would have called to the ghosts within her! Anxiety pricked at her every hair, amplifying as the signal was sounded for the dancing to commence.

Oh, she thought nervously, her teeth finding her bottom lip. How she missed her disguise, she'd give anything to just disappear.

"My," A voice cried, carrying down the promenade and towards her, "this is absolutely deli—cious!"

Elizabeth's ears peeked. She knew that voice.

"Is this olive?"

"No, my lady," Another voice muttered.

"Impossible," The voice cried with a hiccup. "This tastes so much like olive! It's absolutely refreshing!"

She cracked her eyes open, blinking as she left the dark anxiety behind to return to the glowing celebrations of the ballroom.

"Maybe it's pi–ckle I taste," The voice considered, causing Elizabeth's lips to tingle with humor.

She only knew one person who could often be found terrorizing servants at balls. She also only knew one person who acquired hiccups from eating too fast and insisted upon speaking through them though they disrupted the flow of her words. Elizabeth couldn't help her grin as it spread itself across her face. She pushed herself off the pillar, lifting her skirt, and started towards them.

"It's a secret ingredient, my lady. I can't confirm even if you guess."

"So it is pickle!"

"Emily," Elizabeth grinned, her steps unhurried as her glassed heels clicked against the ballroom floor, giving the servant enough time to run away.

At the sound of her name, Emily whipped around, turning her back to the footman who held the silver platter she'd been savagely devouring. The footman's eyes widened with relief, and with a swift bow of his head towards Elizabeth in thanks, he quickly scurried away, escaping Emily's clutches.

"Hello," Emily curtsied, holding a pink and black mask in a dainty gloved hand. "Do I– know you?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "It's me."

Emily flashed a patient smile and cocked her head. "I'm going to need a much better clue than that if– I'm to guess who you are!"

"It's Elizabeth," she muttered daftly, knowing she wouldn't leave the ball unscathed from Emily's jests about her revert to her old appearance.

"Hello, Elizabeth!"

"How long have you been here," Elizabeth asked, wondering if Emily had witnessed the silence.

She wondered if Emily had been amongst them. Had she been one of the creatures, frozen and speechless by the presence of an outsider? She couldn't imagine Emily staying silent. She would have awkwardly broken it with a hiccup or a question about the food, Elizabeth thought with a wobbling grin.

"Not long," Emily replied, looking towards the dance floor as the dancers finished the grand march. "I thought I'd have enough– time to try the hors d'oeuvres."

"Have you been back here the entire time?"

"Mostly," Emily smiled, looking over her shoulder, frowning when she realized that the footman was nowhere in sight.

Emily grunted and turn back towards Elizabeth with another polite smile. "I shouldn't be– however, I must— go and find a friend of mine who'll be joining me here– tonight."

Elizabeth's brows furrowed. If Emily already had a friend to accompany her to the ball, why had she begged for Elizabeth to come?

"So lovely– meeting you," Emily paused, clutching her chest as she was attacked with yet another hiccup. "Elizabeth, was it?"

Meeting you? Elizabeth paused, pondered Emily's words as her brows knitted and her eyes squinted plainly at her friend. But they'd met so long ago, when they were children! Was this some kind of act or did Emily really not recognize her!

Emily beamed unfamiliarly again, lifting her mask to cover her face, and began to turn away.

"Really Em!"

Emily stopped and frowned. "Excuse me?"

"You don't recognize me?"

"If you must know," Emily hiccuped, dropping the mask once again from her face. "I know a good lot of Elizabeths"

Of all the absurdities! Her name wasn't that common! She hadn't met another Elizabeth in years, she thought, as she crossed her arms and glared at one of her closest friends.

"I apologize if I'm supposed to recognize you and I haven't," Emily continued, her brown eyes wide and sincere. "If you would be so kind as to provide a last name, maybe that might stir my memory."

"It's Webber," Elizabeth grounded through tightly clenched teeth.

Emily's eyes bulged from her head, dawned with shock and realization. "Well now, don't I just feel silly," she grumbled and lifted her arms to Elizabeth for a hug. "Oh Liz! You look so lovely tonight!"

"Thank you," Elizabeth muttered as she stiffly embraced her friend, still peeved that she hadn't been recognized.

Emily pulled away and began to examine her attire. "I mean, what a complete transformation from how you looked yesterday," Emily gushed, holding a bright grin, "which was absolutely atrocious. However did you manage to find your face underneath all that powder?"

The light elegant tone of her voice did not falter though her words were rude and harsh. She smiled at Elizabeth with total innocence, blinking daintily as Elizabeth struggled to suppress a growl.

"I think I'm just about done with this friendship," Elizabeth said simply, pivoting on her heels.

"Oh come now," Emily laughed playfully, catching her by the arm. "We have much to accomplish tonight to secure my future role as Duchess of Wyndemere." She reminded, clapping urgently. "And you must be briefed!"

"Briefed?" Elizabeth snorted. "The ball's only just started and you didn't even recognize me," She stressed. "So why should I help you in anything, much less breaking up a marriage!"

"Oh please! No one can blame me for not recognizing you, Liz," Emily tsked, haughtily. "You're always changing around your face and your hair and destroying innocent dresses," She shot in an accusing tone, her eyes cascading back down to Elizabeth's dress. "I see you didn't dye them all black!"

"This one's Carly's," Elizabeth snapped, exhaling an angry breath.

"Well it's gorgeous," Emily barked with a stamp of her foot. "And I'm not breaking up a marriage! I'm saving lives!"

The last note of the quadrille sounded as the two friends squared off. Gone was Emily's infallible beam, replaced now with an irritated scowl as she insolently placed her hands on her hips. Elizabeth too made no attempts to hide her outrage, clenching her fist as her body simpered with offense. Daggers sailed in the air between the two as they remained in this huff, neither one relenting.

"Good evening ladies!"

The anger immediately fled from them as their breaths caught, inhaling sharply as their cheeks pinked. Immediately, they jumped away from each other, ending the standstill, and whirled around into deep curtsies.

"Evening, my lord," They each muttered, keeping their eyes low to the ground, embarrassed that they'd forgotten themselves.

"It seems you two have wandered away from your escorts," The man chuckled as they rose to stand. "Shall I return you to them?"

"No," They both muttered hastily.

Elizabeth clenched her jaw, firmly keeping her gaze to the ground before her, feeling so debased. She'd forgotten how society did that, how it thought so little of woman, believing that they grew wild and rampant the second they were away from the controlling hand of man. She clenched her fist already knowing all too well that that same society would later blame the woman for any unfortunate actions placed upon her by that same hand.

"Well how about a dance then," the man crowed, his tone laced with mischief, signaling warnings from every part of Elizabeth's brain. "For the sake of the ball! We wouldn't want a brawl to break out between you two, lovely ladies, now would we? Jewels would be everywhere, a clumsy servant would slip, costing Wyndemere a fortune and then the Isle would forever be lost in debt."

Elizabeth blinked at the ground, confused and insulted by this pompous fool's words. What a moron! If ever she were angry enough to get into a brawl, there would be a lot more than jewels spewed all over the floor, that was for sure. A servant would most likely slip on the guts of her opponents before they tripped over one of her crimson feathers.

"So how about it?"

She didn't dare lift her head. She prayed that this oaf would get the hint; there was no way she would ever dance with such a chauvinistic twit. Elizabeth prayed he would go straight for Emily and hopefully squish her toes with his ungraceful steps. It would serve her right for not recognizing her!

She watched from the corner of her eyes as her prayers were answered and gleaming black shoes stepped before Emily's swishing pink skirts. But Emily hadn't responded to the request to dance from this gentleman the way she'd expected.

"I'd love to dance with you, my lord," Emily absolutely purred in a tone Elizabeth had never heard from her before.

Confounded, Elizabeth lifted her gaze from the shining black shoes, moving up to the elegantly tailored tan trousers and the stunning maroon velvet dress coat. She gulped, realizing this man couldn't possibly step on any of Emily's toes for he was far too regal. With wide eyes, Elizabeth came upon his face, which unfortunately was covered with a mask, but still could do little to hide his attractiveness.

So this was Emily's Duke, Elizabeth deduced as she watched Emily place her hand in his, her smile seductive, her chest lifted and pointing towards him. Finally, she understood why Emily planned to make such a fool or herself over him. Though an absolute imbecile, the Duke of Wyndemere was deliciously handsome, looking more like a prince than a duke, a very dark prince.

Emily's Duke turned towards her then, regarding her for a moment with an arrogant smirk. And just like that, she wanted to slap him again; good looks couldn't keep instant dislike at bay, a pity, she thought with a sigh. He peered over his shoulder then, his smirk now turning into a downright devious grin, that stretched across his face, revealing a full set of teeth and a pair of shallow dimples. Elizabeth sighed again, wondering what the moron could possibly be smiling about, trying not to roll her eyes as she followed his gaze.

Sorely, she swung her head in the direction he was grinning and instantly lost all ability to breath air. The Duke hadn't been alone, standing before her was the stranger whose presence vacuumed ever bit of air from the room. Flames dragged through her nose, scorching their way down to her lungs, causing every inch of her body to perspire.

"May I have the pleasure of dancing with you," He asked, the restless waves of his eyes crashing into her, sending her reeling and completely out of control. Her mind left the room, hovering over them, watching the scene, but making no contributions.

"Of course you can," Emily cut scornfully before Elizabeth could gather herself.

Her eyes grew round as they stared into his, thinking of the effect his touch could possibly have on her when just his gaze had burned her wits away. Her mind promptly dropped itself back into the ballroom, fear and nerves flooding into her. She turned and sent Emily a heated glare, causing that mischievous grin of the Duke's to drop. Heedlessly, he placed Emily's hand in the crook of his elbow then swiftly proceeded to haul her towards the dance floor, leaving Elizabeth alone with...him.

"You don't have to dance with me if you don't want to," He spoke again, his voice deep yet silky, his perfect English words tinted with a slight foreign accent that thrilled her ears to hear. Gingerly, she turned her head back towards him. "I can see that the lady agreed for you out of spite."

"Though that lady does much out of spite," she divulged, "her antics have no effect on my decisions. I do what I want, sir," She asserted in a firm tone but for all her valiance, couldn't look him in the eye. "And I assure you that I want to dance with you."

"Really," he challenged, and lifted a white gloved hand, holding it out to her. Apprehension delayed her movements. "Doesn't seem like it."

With burning cheeks, she managed to place her hand in his, her fingers trembling as they fell onto his palm. His hand closed over hers, devouring it in his grasp and sent gust of bristling sensation up and down her spine.

"Do tell me what it seems like," she exhaled, shooting him a defiant glare, delighted by the triumph of overcoming his touch.

"Like you're very angry," he murmured and with a tug at her arm they started for the dance floor. Mirth swam in his eyes, and to Elizabeth's annoyance, pulled at his lips. He was so much bigger than her, there was so much to fear yet it wasn't fright exactly that affected her, it was something else.

"Impossible," She contested as they stepped onto the lustrous wood of the dance floor. "One simply can't be angry during a waltz. It turns it into another dance entirely."

"And what is that dance called," he inquired, placing a hand under her shoulder blade.

She expelled a long, nervous breath and tentatively placed her hand on his broad muscular shoulder. "Erm," she searched for something to say as she braced herself for the first steps of the waltz. "The polka!"

He raised a brow; his lips pursed as he tried to suppress a grin but said nothing as the soft notes of the music swirled throughout the room. Lifting her chin and looking over his shoulder, she took the first step, following his lead.

They twirled slowly around the ballroom at first as the music kept a light and jovial tune. His frame was impeccable, making Elizabeth feel awkward and inferior in his arms. She doubted her steps, stumbling through the hesitations and the weaves and turns of the graceful dance. She tried to hide her frustration as they moved but it only surfaced more with his every perfect step.

She clenched her jaw, her face stern as she concentrated on the movements. Her eyes flickered over to him, catching the sparkle of laughter in his eyes as he circled them into yet another perfect turn. Her throat rumbled with rage as she bit down harder on her jaw. Fuming, her clumsy meek steps grew into grand passionate stomps and suddenly she found herself propelled into another kind dance entirely.

They no longer floated and soared about the ballroom in a waltz. Now, they attacked the floor, battling and struggling for power in an unknown and improper dance. Their steps quickened, now sharp with the beats of the music as they whirled to it. Elizabeth kept her head high, her steps proud as they marched, fury in her eyes as she glared at him. But he wouldn't relent, he stomped to get her attention, tried to control her with his movements, and capture her in his arms. Explosions set off as they dueled out their intricate steps, each challenging the other to take it further and further.

Finally, their duel came to an end and they found themselves standing toe-to-toe as the gentle music of the waltz died around them, replaced now with the music of their heavy breaths. Jason glared into her deep blue eyes, memorized by the electricity that flashed from them. Her eyes were a frosty blue yet they glowed and radiated when she was angry, melting into a color he'd never seen before. He winced as she directed yet another scowl his way then watched as she whipped herself around and stomped off.

He smiled, watching her as she disappeared into the crowd, her shoulders stiff, her fist clenched. Finally, he thought with elation, finally he'd found a purpose!


	8. Chapter 7

**Some Enchanted Evening: Chapter 7**

"You came at me in the middle of the night to show me my soul."

Her legs couldn't carry her away fast enough, she thought as the skinny limbs marched across the ballroom floor, eating the ground at an improper pace, but a pace that still didn't satisfy Elizabeth. She had to get out; she had to find a way out of this massive crush of people. Her senses reeled, charged with an odd protruding fire, one that pinched with her every step. Her eyes stung as she moved, the world streaking into blurry jagged lines that jabbed out at her scrambling form.

She felt trapped, as though there were no openings in any of the walls that would allow her to make her exit. They had all closed the second she'd placed her hand in his and allowed herself to dance with him. And though she'd worn a mask, his gaze had seen right through her.

Blindly she sought seclusion, dodging the watery figures that barricaded her only to find that, for all her efforts, they came faster and faster, until suddenly she was in their grasps.

"Elizabeth," She heard. Her eyelids snapped shut, liberating the tears that had obscured so much of the ballroom. "Liz, don't cry," Emily cooed pensively but she couldn't breathe, couldn't think! "Liz!" She felt the arms move around her, imprisoning her in a warm embrace. "Liz, I'm truly sorry for not recognizing you!"

And in that moment, Elizabeth stopped; she stopped struggling, stopped her fighting and sagged heavily into Emily's arms, the crushing pressure of panic receding. She peeked at Emily's face which was no longer blurred in watercolors of past and pain and found safety and strength in Emily's warm brown regard and reveled as her tears disappeared with the tightening of Emily's arms.

"I–I'm fine," Elizabeth said finally. "I'm over it."

But Emily didn't believe her.

"Really, I am," She reassured and pulled away with a forced smile.

"Good," Emily sighed, "Because it's truly awful of me not to recognize my very own best friend," She chuckled, taking hold of Elizabeth's hand and giving it a squeeze. "I wouldn't have forgiven you if you'd done that to me."

"You wouldn't have?"

"Oh, not for years," Emily grinned mischievously, causing Elizabeth to earnestly laugh as she buffed at the wet stains left on her cheeks. "But anyway, guess who I just danced with?"

Of course, Elizabeth knew who Emily had just danced with. She might as well have sparkled with glee, her face glowing as she jumped up and down in the middle of the promenade.

Her reaction to dancing was very different from Elizabeth's. Elizabeth tried to remember her dance but saw nothing but whirls of wind. She remembered her handsome partner's perfect form, remembered being agitated with him and remembered trying to stomp on his toes. But somehow, in the middle of the dance, she'd been whisked away into another time where anger was the only substances that flowed through her veins. And for a moment, only for a moment, she wasn't too sure who she was dancing with.

"The Duke," Elizabeth filled absently, still very deep in thought.

"How did you know," Emily cried.

"You were nice to him, flirty even."

"But I'm nice to everyone," Emily snorted.

"Course you are," Elizabeth said sarcastically.

"Well, my Nikolas is a marvelous dancer," Emily said happily, gripping at Elizabeth's hand, "Just marvelous! I didn't even feel like I was on the ground!"

Elizabeth only blinked as all blood flow shunned the hand her friend was holding.

"We talked," She continued giddily, "I told him how wonderful I thought his speech was! You must not have heard it! It was before you arrived! It was quite something really," She said with a pitying shake of her head. "He should be crowned king for his eloquence!"

Because that was all it took to govern a country. Elizabeth fought not to roll her eyes as she adjusted her mask. "What was your king's speech about?"

Emily beamed, squealed and squeezed her hand even harder. "He spoke bravely of the ordeal that occurred to his son!" Suddenly, all excitement abandoned her face, leaving her with a grim, somber expression that even some of London's best actresses had difficulty replicating. "My young step-son, our Spencer almost drowned on the beach recently!"

With a deep drag of air to her nostrils, Elizabeth looked to the ceiling.

"Luckily, he was saved by a dashing stranger, our guest of honor, Mr. Morgan," She paused, probably to withdraw a handkerchief and dab at her tears. Elizabeth couldn't be sure; the ceiling had far too many fixtures to be counted. "However, in the event of rescuing our young son, the future Duke of Wyndemere, Mr. Morgan sustained," she halted, breaking now for a round of dramatic sniveling. "An injury!"

Oh, for Christ sakes! The need to roll her eyes was so overpowering.

"What kind of injury?"

"He," she sniffed, "hit his head," sniff, sniff, "against a rock...and lost all his memories!"

And Elizabeth immediately lost all count of the ceiling fixtures. Her jaw dropped in shock as she looked back to Emily and her dramatic display. "Em? A-Are you being serious?"

"Of course I am," Emily cried indignantly.

"Is he alright?"

"Mr. Morgan's perfectly fine, physically. Handsome too," she sniffed, "In fact if I didn't have my sights so set on my Nikolas..."

And with that, she could no longer hold back. An involuntary force entered her pupils, causing them to roll and roll and roll in her head, then roll some more, leaving her no other option but to stop the rolling by slamming her face into her palm.

"Elizabeth Imogene Webber," Emily chastised with an offended gasp. " How could you roll your eyes at a time like this! This man has no idea who he is or who his family is! He awakens now with a complete loss of purpose," Emily lectured, but it couldn't stop the rolling. "I mean, if you were to sustain the same injury, Liz, God forbid, you'd probably forget all about this awful plan of yours to die alone."

Elizabeth lifted her face from her hands and simply stared at her friend. She opened her mouth to reply but saw no use to it. And with yet another long deep suffering release of breath, she turned, hoping to find the nearest exit. "It's been wonderful, Em, really. I'm glad you danced with your Duke! But I really must be going."

"Going," Emily scoffed and yanked her back around. "But the ball's not even halfway over and I've yet to lure the Duke into proposing to me! We've still politics to discuss!"

"I'm sure you can get your married Duke to propose to you on your own tonight, Em" Elizabeth said drily and with a pat of Emily's hand, tried to make another attempt to flee.

"NO!" Emily cried and snatched her back. "Please, please, please stay! PLEASE," She begged, squeezing. After this night, Elizabeth was quite certain she'd had enough personal contact with her friend to last a lifetime. "PLEASE! You would have gotten all dressed up for nothing! Please! For me!"

"Em," Elizabeth whined.

"Please!"

"I–"

"Please! Please! Please!," Emily pleaded, not letting Elizabeth get another word in. Elizabeth opened her mouth, but her voice was stifled with yet another "Please?"

"Fine," Elizabeth groaned. Course, she didn't mean it. She would spend a couple more minutes with Emily, wait for her friend to be occupied by yet another party goer and then make her escape. Sure, Emily would be mad for a bit, but she'd get over it eventually. Just like she'd get over this notion that her married Duke would get down on his knee and propose to her that very night. Elizabeth didn't keep up too much on what was popular in societal fashion but she was quite certain that polygamy wasn't yet too favored.

SHE DIDN'T HAVE to wait long for her departure. After a couple of minutes of broadcasting every newspaper title that she'd ever heard in a loud, alluring voice, Emily was immediately picked up by yet another suitor, sadly not her Duke. Elizabeth watched as the tall scrawny boy pulled Emily halfway across the ballroom, thankful that he led her far enough away that Emily couldn't properly call out to stop her from leaving without ruining her reputation. With another glance, Elizabeth turned and made her way to the nearest pair of French doors, and without so much as a pause, slipped swiftly into the night.

She couldn't contain the deep gratifying sigh that overtook her body as her skin met with the still, bracing breeze of the summer night. While the atmosphere of the ball had tugged at her lungs, the fresh cool air now liberated them, refreshing her mood. She was eager to get home, eager to engrave this lesson of the night into her memories. While London society had its perks, it was not as valuable as so many deemed it to be. And certainly not worth her freedom!

With another deep breath, she snapped herself up, ready to start the long journey home. However, as she peered at her surroundings, searching for a path that would lead her back to Carly and the boats, and her disguise, her objective slipped clear from her mind.

Her thoughts jumbled as beautiful vivid greens revealed themselves, bursting with florid hues. She was quite certain she wasn't breathing as she moved away from the white French doors and onto the sandstone patio. Her chest was hollow and light, no longer properly raising and falling as she passed bushes of brilliant coral roses and climbs of aubergine hydrangeas. Sounds of gentle babbling water echoed, chasing after her glass heeled steps. And before another thought against it could enter her head, she was tracking deeper into the lush Wyndemere gardens.

She didn't know how long she walked, or how far, or how long it had been since her last breath. At some point, she realized that she was probably lost and might not be found for some time, hell she might even die here. But that thought was immediately shoved from her brain by the next exciting discovery, the most being a row of stone steps that were embedded into the side of a rocky cliff.

Hastily, Elizabeth bunched her skirts, mounting the steps with great conviction, climbing higher and higher towards the sounds of rushing waters. Most people, at the sight of the steps, would have had thoughts and concerns about their safety. They would have tried to guess what could possibly be at the top rather than climb and see for themselves. Their heads would fill with images while their nerves clamored and eventually stopped them from going forward with their discovery. But Elizabeth had known for a long time that she wasn't like most people. And while she'd been terrified and panicked in the ballroom of being in a place with no escapes, there was no way she'd let that stop her now.

Her heart slammed, intoxicated by this mystery, fervent with excitement, knowing that she was seconds from solving a puzzle. She blew a shaky breath as she took the final step, placing a foot onto the soft grassy summit and throwing her eyes into the space before her.

Instantly, she turned stiff, rooting herself to the spot just above the steps as waves of panic and alarm slammed into her, rocking her as she stared into the scene she'd been so excited to see.

She'd learned that at the top of the steps sat a bridge, a glorious magnificent bridge, that started a few feet away from her and ended god knows where. She would never have ventured onto the bridge herself, no matter how alluring she thought it was. The bridge was old and worn, and probably hadn't been used for some decades. She was weary of its ability to support any weight. The pale moon colored stone structure was crumbling with dark emerald weeds sprouting through the rifts. She imagined that the second she placed her foot onto the bridge, the old pathetic structure would disintegrate and plummet into the stream below. But she'd never have to wonder about its ability to support her, for the bridge was already supporting someone else.

She tasted the adrenaline shooting through her body as she tensely took a step back. Her gaze was pinned to the unmistakable shadow of a man. He stood in the middle of the deteriorating bridge, peering down into the waters. Clotted with fear, Elizabeth hoped for the chance to make it back down the steps before he heard her.

Cautiously, she inched her foot back, seeking the first step and wished to rewind time. She wished she could go back to the very second she'd agreed to attend this ball and change her answer. So much of what she'd been avoiding for in the past year had appeared just in this one night. She'd horridly had all the eyes of London on her, something her disguise would never have allowed. Then, she'd unfortunately caught the attentions of a man after having skillfully evaded them for so long. And now, what she feared most, she was alone, in the dark, with a large, strange man, and her only two options were to run or for the bridge to suddenly give way and tumble into the river. And while she knew it was bad of her, she prayed for the latter.

Tentatively, she began to turn around and glanced over her shoulder at the stranger who had still yet to notice her presence. Her breath slowly unclenched as her hopes of bypassing the situation came into reach. And with an unheard sigh of relief, she lifted a foot, about to take the very first step.

"You know," She halted. "It's truly an amazing view."

IT TOOK EVERYTHING in her not to scream at the sound of his voice. Fear raced into her, apprehending her body as her mind overran with outcomes. Air ceased to enter her nose and tightened around the area of her throat, strangling her as she lost all composure. The Earth had once again taken away all her exits, and she debated whether she should turn around and face the room or scour the walls in panic, searching for a hidden door.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice now saturated with remorse. But Elizabeth was stone, unmoving and unresponsive as she drowned in terror. "I've frightened you! I didn't mean to–"

"It's alright," She managed to say, her voice mangled.

"I just thought you should see the view," He said contritely, "Since you climbed all the way up here."

Dubiously, she soothed the fear in her limbs, softening her stance only slightly, and began repeating to herself that she wasn't in any immediate danger. Not all men were dogs, deep down she knew that. They all couldn't be rogues and hellions who tried seduced women into dark gardens and have their way with them. No, they all couldn't be alike. There had to be some who didn't like woman for Greek mythology to have any accuracy at all.

But as she turned around, she found it quite difficult to hold onto that basis when she met the eyes of a man who clearly disproved her theory. Horror peaked as he stepped forward, traveling out of the darkness and into view. Her skin blazed, the air arrested her every breath, leaving her with none, and telling her exactly who this stranger was.

Her body grew feverish as he stopped in front of her, towering her just as he did in their dance. She felt her cheeks growing warm, their tone changing color as his bold blue gaze settled onto her. She jerked her own away from his handsome face, swinging her glance restlessly about the garden.

She couldn't even begin to understand what was happening. This man was handsome, sure, even more so in the moonlight, with the darkness accentuating his stark features, making his looks wilder to her than they had been in the ballroom. But, she'd seen handsomer men and had successfully been able to avoid their affections! Why was this any different?

Maybe it was because he desired her, she thought as she lifted a hand to tug her dark mask securely over her features. It was blatant in the way his eyes had speechlessly connected to hers during her entrance to the ball and even in the way he'd sought her company after. And even now, it was clear, in the way he looked at her, his brilliant stare burning so deeply into hers that she wasn't even sure she had her mask on at all.

But none of that should have mattered when she didn't want him! Or couldn't want him! She was quite certain that had she been some naive, empty headed, societal chit, she would love to have a man like this attracted to her. But she wasn't and she would never be.

Still, her body burned and there was no cooling its fire. And while she didn't want to want him, she did.

"I- I," She stammered when she'd collected herself. "I- I don't need to see the view."

"But you climbed all those steps in a dress and heels! I can hardly manage those steps in breeches, much less a dress."

She swallowed, the rhythm of her heart beat loud in her ear.

"Yes well," she said, her cheeks burning hotly. "I shouldn't have. I really must be getting back to the ballroom."

She plunged her shaking hands into the softness of her skirts, grasping fist fulls of the crimson fabric and prepared to turn away from him and start back down the steps when she heard, "I'll escort you."

"NO," she said, a little too quickly and hoped her revulsion to his words hadn't appeared on her face. "T-That's quite alright."

"But you'll get lost."

"I um know my way back," She assured. "But I appreciate your concern."

He frowned, peering down into the pale, horrified face of a beautiful woman that completely confounded him. For some reason, this woman kept running from him. She kept dashing away, in her red crimson gown, her long feathered train soaring after her until it ceased its flight into a crowd of jovial people, disappearing from his sight before he could even say a word to stop it.

Jason was tired of seeing her go and he wished to see her the way a man was meant to, without clenched fist and a terrified pallor. But as he stared into the flawlessly fine face before him, watching a red bottom lip disappear nervously into a pink mouth and deep blue eyes dart skittishly around a garden, he began to have the sinking feeling that he never would.

Jason pursed his lips. "You're scared of me."

Her eyes stopped their little dance and snapped to his. "W-What would give you that idea, sir?"

To his astonishment, her face flamed, turning into a bright shade of crimson, one that contrasted comically with her black mask and told him that his assumption had been right. She was scared! His cheeks convulsed with mirth, his lips twitching as he bit back a delighted grin.

"Erm," He said, feigning a thoughtful look to the stars. "Probably the number of times already you've ran from my company."

"I– I never run, sir," She said. "Ladies don't run."

"Then, I suppose you must hate me," he blew nonchalantly, struggling with a knot of laughter in his throat as her face flamed, her blush glowing impossibly brighter.

"I don't know you to hate you, sir," she muttered indignantly.

"But you were so angry with me during our waltz!"

And she had been. He was certain he'd never be able to forget the feeling of her small, ethereal body positively radiating with heat against him as they whirled around the dance floor. Her expression had been scorched with vibrant contempt for him, making it painfully clear that she didn't want to dance with him and had been forced to because of the challenge laid upon her by her rival. And while it should have torn at his hopes that she had no desire to enjoy his companionship, it hadn't. Instead, it stirred him and left him wanting to know why.

"I was not angry with you, sir," She nearly growled.

"You tried to step on my toes," He reminded with a raised brow.

"I– I did not!"

"Then what was all the stomping for?"

"My slipper was falling off, y– you see," She fumbled for an excuse. "I– I was trying to get it back on!"

"Of course," he muttered.

"They're made of glass, if you must know." She lifted the hem of her skirt, exhibiting proof.

Jason's gaze dropped to the ground and he eyed the small dainty ankle that appeared from underneath the feathers. How odd, he thought as his glance slid down the beautifully exposed skin of her leg and to the gleaming slipper at the end of it. With a squint, he saw that the material was indeed red glass.

"Some fool thought glass a resilient material enough to make a shoe out of. Of all the absurdities."

"Hmmp,"was all he said. "Still doesn't explain why you looked like you wanted to wring my neck."

"Sir, I did not want to–"

"Fine," Jason huffed under the heat of her glare, "Polka with my neck!"

"I–," She started but lost her words, unable to grasp them as they tangled and knotted at the tip of her tongue, trapped inside her. She snapped her mouth shut, swallowing the exhausting babble of nervous tales within it, and sighed.

Her body was drained from the strife of being in his presence. She'd never felt so warm, so nervous, or foolish in her life. She wasn't usually so easily read. She often held her thoughts and opinions to herself. Few knew what she was thinking when she was thinking it and that proved to be a blessing and, at times, a curse. However, this curse of hers was her own doing and a curse that she was quite used to. This was why it shocked her that this man, who didn't even know her name, already knew her greatest fear! Him!

"It really is quite the view," the man said again for what seemed like the millionth time and shot her a blazingly coaxing smile.

Elizabeth sighed. "I believe you sir, I do. But I really can't–"

"What if I asked you to go," He interrupted. "Begged you even?"

"I still couldn't."

"Because you hate me?"

"No," She replied, irritated. "Because it would be terribly improper of me and because we've never been introduced!"

He raised a brow, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as he pondered her response. "Oh but that all could very well be fixed! I'd introduce myself to you. I would! But I have the slightest suspicion that you wouldn't return the same courtesy and now that's hardly fair."

Elizabeth couldn't fight the smile that flickered over her lips because that was precisely what she would do.

"Well then," He said with a short squall of breath. "I bid you a goodbye."

She furrowed her brows. Goodbye? "Erm where are going?"

"Going?" He frowned and attempted an abashed expression. But his face quivered, breaking into a grin, as he slowly began walking backwards across the bridge. He stopped in the middle of the old, cracked structure and with his eyes never leaving hers, said, "Nowhere."

Inside, her stomach roiled and burned as though she'd sipped poison and was meeting her end. She knew she'd lost this battle, that she could longer fight the urge to follow him. Her strength dwindled under his gaze, removing her of her persistence. Timidly, she took a step onto the bed of aged rock and allowed his presence to pull hers, leading the way towards him.

Her mind screamed, her whole body worried and warned, trying to stop her in her tracks. Memories flew into her head, words she's said in the past now strung together, echoing in her ears, trying to coerce her into changing her mind. But there was no turning back.

She stopped at his side and looked up at him through her lashes and found him beaming down at her. His smile was wide and earnest, so pleased with himself. His face transformed in his happiness, growing soft and boyish with lines of joy and excitement.

But she knew he wouldn't be excited for long. She was on fragile grounds. She rarely allowed herself to be alone with men. She didn't know how to act or speak with them and wasn't sure she even could without being rude.

Grimly, Elizabeth untangled her eyes from his and turned then towards the view.

"Woah!" She gasped.

"I told you!"

They were surrounded in a sea of soft blue tears, encompassed by miles and miles of beautifully moonlit waters. She fell, lost in a river, so delicate and serene that the moon lay undisturbed in its tides.

"H–How did you find this?"

"Same way as you, I imagine."

Elizabeth doubted that. The Wyndemere gardens were far too grand and much too vast for any two random party guests to just find such a place by coincidence. They had to be of a select few who knew of the bridges existence. She inhaled, her breath loud as it entered her body and leaned over the railing to peer into the depth. "That is–"

"Terrifying?"

"Gorgeous," She gushed as she stared into the graceful sways.

He chuckled. "I should warn you. It's hard to leave. You won't be able to stop staring down into that water."

"It's like looking into the sky," She breathed and glanced to him. "Do you live here?"

His face flared with alarm at the question and for a moment he didn't speak, sparking her earlier suspicions. "I'll only answer that," he said slowly, "if you answer a personal question as well."

Elizabeth sniffed and haughtily lifted her chin. "Fine. I didn't really want to know anyway."

He smirked, "Yes. I live here."

Jason watched as she mulled quietly at that, tapping her fingers lightly against the rough stone railing of the bridge. To him, he had yet to have an encounter as fragile as this. He'd been shocked really, unable to believe that she had followed him onto the bridge and was now standing there, next him, staring out into a place that had spoken volumes to his soul.

But for how long? How long would she be there, next to him? Knowing her, unfortunately, as little as he did, he knew his time was limited. He had no idea what in his actions had lead her onto the bridge and had even less of an idea what would send her barreling off. And so, with caution, he would proceed, hoping it would be enough to remove the fright from beneath her wings.

"Are you a relative of the Duke's," She asked finally.

"No. I've only started living here recently."

"Recently," She frowned. Suddenly she gaped, "Y-You're the guest of honor!"

He clenched his jaw. He hadn't realized that title had followed him out onto the bridge as well.

"It was a very noble thing you did," She acknowledged with a blush, quickly removing the surprise from her face, "risking your life for that little boy's."

"Thank you," he mumbled and looked out onto the waters, "though I desperately wish people would stop calling it that."

"Calling it what?"

"Calling it noble. Calling me," he sighed, "noble."

Her eyes brushed along his rigid profile, and she found herself confused. Why wouldn't someone enjoy being pinned with such an esteemed adjective? "Why?"

"Because," He puffed, "Noble men are only noble by choice and in saving another's life, there really should be no choice."

Elizabeth gulped as his hard stare plunged into the soft blue of the water, rattling its softness.

"Yes, well," She cleared her throat. "Of course you're right in that. But that's not what makes it noble, Mr. Morgan. What makes it─"

"Ah," He interrupted, "So you get to know my name but I cannot know yours?"

"Yes," Elizabeth said plainly and continued as though he hadn't interrupted her at all. A smirk spread across his face, one she painfully tried her best to ignore. "What makes it noble is that you sacrificed your life for someone else and lost what you sacrificed. You saved another person's life by being courageous and unselfish, and I assure you, those are positive traits not too many in this world possess."

"I hadn't thought of it that way," He frowned and shifted uncomfortably. "And I guess, I'll never know if I can. See, I'm not sure I'm as noble as you say. I didn't save Spencer Cassidine. Someone else did, someone who I have no memory of. I don't know if I'm courageous and unselfish. I don't really know what I am. But I do know that the man who jumped in and saved Spencer is the true hero. And I'm just an imposter, completely at odds, accepting all his praise."

She could imagine why this would bother him so. In truth, it would have bothered her too. All night he'd been honored and congratulated for an event he had no memory of. He hadn't experienced that day so many thanked him for, couldn't recall jumping into the dangerous waves, swimming against the binding current, or even hitting his head against the rock that had taken so much from him. But his body had experienced it; it had pumped with adrenaline and reacted to what it saw. It had saved a little boy but could not celebrate such an achievement under a new mind and master.

And though she barely knew the man, it irked her that he robbed himself of such an honor and tortured himself everyday into believing that he would, in no way, react the same if the situation were to present itself again.

"Well," Elizabeth huffed and squinted down the bridge. "Let's settle it then."

"What are you doing," he asked.

But she simply brushed past him, paying no mind to that puzzled expression of his or to the question he'd just asked her. He didn't follow her at first, which for, Elizabeth was very thankful. She felt his unsure gaze, weighing heavily against her shoulders as she moved quickly down the uneven stone. She could sense that he wanted to come after her but held himself back.

She stopped herself a little distance from him, judging that she was significantly far enough away, and with little hesitation, lifted herself, effortlessly, onto the railing of the bridge.

"Hey! Get done from there," he cried, outrage pouring over his tone. And in seconds, she heard the stomps of feet thud up behind her.

She couldn't help but feel a little bit foolish on this new perch of hers. She glanced to her feet and saw that, only a few inches from her gleaming glass slippers, was a steep plummeting drop into the brilliant surging blue below.

She swallowed but did not allow the view to deter her. She had a point to prove and would not get down until she did. And so, with instinctive anticipation, she side stepped his first attempt to grab her and began to plead her case.

"Please don't touch me sir," She said indigently, "It's highly improper."

"You're going to lose your balance and die! That's highly improper."

"I'm as sturdy as a rock up here!"

"You have glass slippers on," He scoffed and reached for her again.

"They're not falling off right now!" She dodged him again, inching herself a little further away from him. She was quite certain that if he were of a mind to, he could easily pull her down and carry her away with him. "Indulge me! Please! This rail is 5 feet wide!"

The glower he gave her showed that he had little appreciation for her architectural embellishments.

"I'm fine," She swore. "I promise."

Reluctantly, he sighed and dropped his hands to his side.

"Now if I were to fall off..."

Elizabeth had never witnessed the transformation cycle of rock up close before. But she was quite certain she had now. From the corner of her eye, she witnessed the anger that flashed in him and cringed as he grew hard and rigid, turning into a statue right beside her. His stone, hard glare should have put an end to her little demonstration. His looked as though he could push her off the edge himself. But she was stubborn and equally determined to make her point, and so she continued, hoping that her conclusion would be of great benefit to him in the end.

"Would you save me," She asked, "If I tripped and–"

"You will not!"

"But if I did?"

"I wouldn't let you!"

She glanced over her shoulder and sighed, "What if it happened quickly, while you weren't looking?"

"I'm not going to be not looking, madam," He grounded through his teeth. "You're not jumping from this bridge, not as long as I'm standing here!"

She released a ragged breath. "I don't honestly plan to jump!"

"I'm sure you don't honestly plan to fall either," He quipped. "But alas, the Earth wasn't made without wind!"

She rolled her eyes and pressed on. "Would the other you save me? The one that saved the little boy?"

He grunted. "I'm positive that fool would."

"And you," She prodded. "Would you save a lady from a bridge?"

"I have no reason to! You're not going to NEED saving!"

"But IF I did! Would YOU go in after me?"

His response wasn't immediate. Time ticked on and silence dawned the air as Elizabeth stood there, waiting for his reply. She hadn't meant for this to be so intimate, hadn't expected any of the tension that was now rippling through her body. But somehow, her attempts to persuade him had made it so. And the fact that she already knew his answer, made it even more.

Electricity ran over her, jolting and prickling her skin. Her heart thudded, pounding, as she felt the blue of his eyes and heard the breath of his words before they even left his lips.

"Of course," He whispered.

And she clamped her eyes shut, balking at the thrill that flowed within her. She released a shaky breath into the black night. Suddenly, she didn't feel as solid and present as she had before. She felt lost, swaying as unsteadily as the soft blue of the river.

"But you don't even know me. A– And this dress is awfully heavy!"

"More reason for you to get down."

"And that water, it looks very shallow." She peered over the edge. "A drop like that, no chance I'd survive."

She bit her lip and peeked over her shoulder at him, unprepared for the onslaught of his stare.

"I don't care."

"You'd still do it then," She breathed, "You'd risk your life, your memories for–"

"I would."

She swallowed, stricken, and turned herself around on the rail. It was a very different experience speaking with a man who bled honesty through his veins. He wasn't smooth or coercing, didn't make any attempts to trick or persuade her so far. He simply spoke and exuded the truth. And in doing so, made Elizabeth realize just how dangerous he was to her.

Gingerly, she attempted to lower herself into a sitting position. Her head reeled and her lungs felt punctured, as though they were deflating, expelling all her air. She clutched onto her skirt, absently dangling a foot over the side blurred green. And in a breathless moment, she descended back down to the earth, completely unaware she was even landing.

Tumbling into suspension, the butterflies inside her stomach tilted, their flutters awakening the dead sense of panic in her. Her eyes grew large as her feet only met air. And before she could even scream, hard arms engulfed her.

Elizabeth gasped as her sharp vision failed and vague images flashed lightning fast. Colors blasted from all directions, blinding her. And in an instant, she'd gone from being high up on the ledge to a clattered mess on the floor, sprawled out across a chest that felt even harder to her than the rock beneath her legs.

She grunted, desperately clamoring for the wind that had been so roughly knocked out of her. She took a deep breath, welcoming the much needed air into her nostrils. And with a sag of her body, rested her fogged head against the dense, radiating heat beneath her cheek.

She blinked and stiffened. Her eyes rounded as she sensed and felt him against every inch of her. She was settled on top of him, her body dumped in a disorganized heap atop his chest, tangling and intertwining with his long limbs, searing her to him.

She snapped herself up and hastily rolled off of him. "Oh," She cried as she caught the first glimpse of pain on his face. "Oh, I'm so sorry! Are you alright? I'm so sorry! I almost–"

"Died like I said you were going to," He groaned.

She blushed and sank back on her knees.

He lifted himself up, stiffly onto his elbows, and clasped a hand to his side. Elizabeth clenched her jaw, watching as he inspected his wound. She flung nervous eyes to him, frightened that her foolishness had inflicted some real damage. She swept along his handsome face and, to her relief, found nothing wrong with it, not even a speck of dust. However, dust covered everything else and it seemed his side hurt the most from their fall.

She ached to touch him, to brush and clean the dirt that clung to his lovely jacket and poke and prod the bruise that was now probably forming on his side. She chided herself and her stubbornness. Once again it had led her into a situation where she'd known better and continued anyway, only to get someone hurt. She glanced back to his face, expecting to see a sudden mark upon it or a trickle of blood that she'd missed from before. But she found nothing, only encountering the fire and crystal of his eyes.

"I'm fine," he murmured, easily reading her thoughts.

She shrank back, expecting to feel his annoyance with her. She was, of course, to blame for any pain he was now feeling at the moment. She couldn't fault him for his rage for she'd always been enraging. But, rage was completely absent from his face as his eyes fell upon her like they had before, painting themselves onto her, as if he could stare at her forever.

"You've just learned a few things about yourself, sir," She said, her words melding into the friction of the night. "Not only are you noble but you're also trustworthy."

His lips twitched with the fire of a smile, ready to blaze in the thicket of the night. Heat cascaded over her body, an immediate response to the radiance of his grin. Pouring over her skin, it accumulated onto the surface, raising her temperature. She parted her lips, her breath dwindling to embers, as he sat himself up, adjusting his seat on the hard bed of rocks.

Though he didn't touch her, she felt as though she was in his grasp, scorching and trembling, the way she had in his arms. The cool wind sizzled inside of her, burning up before it could reach her lungs. She longed for her body to cease this madness, wished this man would leave and allow it to return to how it'd been. But, it appeared his purpose was to drive her to utter and complete insanity as he suddenly caught the nape of her neck and crashed his mouth down onto hers.

An inferno clasped her lips, harboring her mouth in its liquid fire. Her eyes fluttered shut in shock, greater exposing her to the raw sensation of him. She was certain she had lost her mind, that it had positively left her, and that nothing on Earth would ever make sense again. But this wrong, distorted, heavenly instance in her life didn't need to make any sense to her. She had protested it, vigorously, with her every breath, yet had always known that it would eventually have to happen. The way his lips fit to hers, the way they had expertly tied and knotted to each other's, told her that this moment had always had a place in her life. And though she never knew she needed this, she now realized just how much she did.

She sighed into him, melting, as he languidly brushed his lips along hers, billowing desire like fire under water. His hands didn't touch her anywhere else but to hold her in place. And to her shame, she desperately wanted them to; she wanted him to drag his hands along her heated body, sparking his fingers like coals, and branding them into her skin.

But Jason made not a move, forcing himself to remain still as he stifled the primal growl caged inside his throat. He hadn't meant to kiss her, he knew that something about him frightened her, and caused her to run. But he couldn't have helped himself even if there were a million helping hands, and had decided in the close tense air between their lips upon a short, chaste kiss, one where he'd press his lips to hers fleetingly before she disappeared. But there was no way he could be expected to be bound to such earlier promises. What he felt was too ardent to be controlled; it was too fierce to be restrained. There was no way to hamper this unstoppable beast inside him, only to let it run its course until it left nothing else breathing.

He deepened, amplified, cultivated, explored, chaining his hands to her smooth skin, darting his tongue into her sweetness. Their mouths danced, swayed spun into each other's, fighting desperately to lead an unconsolable waltz. He stomped his lips to hers like he had in their dance, following the harmony of his racing heartbeat, and called for her to do the same. But she denied his request, fighting him, grappling his desires, stirring him until he nearly splashed.

He heard her sharp moans and felt her fingers rise to clutch at his shirt and without any awareness, yanked her into his lap, pressing her lithe warmth to his chest. Their bodies engaged in a thousand caresses, absorbing each other's, consuming until he felt as though they were no more. And then suddenly, she was no more, she was gone. He no longer felt her warmth or tasted her lips, and grew frightened that he'd devoured her.

He cracked his gaze open to find that she'd pulled away and set herself away from him. His chest trembled, gasping and heaving, in need of her lips. His skin couldn't cool, his senses couldn't gain control. He looked to her then, with erupting eyes, and knew that she was terrified. She scrambled back in horror, pulling herself along the rock, her cheeks stained with her pulse, bright red with fear of him.

He tried to regain himself, to salvage this small moment on the bridge. He couldn't look at her as burned as he was, he'd surely lose her. "There," He breathed shakily in an unsure attempt keep her there. "I accept that I'm noble. Does that please you? Will you stop leaping from bridges now?"

He watched as many emotions played on her face; saw the distress frolic in the space between her brows and the worry jump around in her eyes. He held his breath and waited anxiously for the next few minutes. As desperate as he was to keep her there, he knew he could not, he felt her wiggling from his grasp the way a wild bird broke free from a hand.

"I–," She finally uttered. "I must go."

Clumsily, she vaulted from the ground, her heightened stance leaving it so that only her feathers were in view. He shut himself off from them, feeling a thick blast of disappointment crash against him and heard the soft clicks of her glass heels carrying her down the bridge, flying her off into the night. Jason thought about how strange their situation was. He had kissed her yet hadn't known her name, yearned for her yet hadn't even spent more than minutes with her. Still, her short little visit had been enough to be deemed the pinnacle of his new existence and had wreaked havoc on every part of his heart and head.

He felt torn, ripped and spilling like a pillow that had lost all its feathers. Was he supposed to forget about her now, even when the thought of it left him numb? Was he supposed to go on living his life as if he'd never set eyes on her, as if he'd never kissed her? The clicks of her slippers were gone, her feathers were all flown, every trace of her thrown into the wind and moonlight. But he couldn't let her go; he had to chase the breeze that carried her.

"Wait," he cried and jumped to his feet, ignoring the dull pain in his side and was at the end of the bridge before the stars' next glisten. He launched his sight down to the bottom of the stone staircase, his hopes rich at the caught a glimpse of red feathers. "Wait!"

But she took one look over her shoulder, with loops of fear, and bolted into the garden. He scurried down the steps, racing after her, trying his best to keep up with her vast lead. He pounded through the roses, charging through the floral scented twist and turns, following her all the way back to the center of the garden where the brilliant green leaves separated into three different paths.

He faltered, stopping his steps in the grass of the small space, and scrounged for what to do next. His gaze flew to the three different openings that surrounded a grand marble fountain. They were three very different paths that led to three very different parts of Wyndemere. He could continue down the path he was on, and make his way back to the ballroom, slipping discretely into again as if he'd never been gone. But he doubted that she had went back to the ball and instead considered the opening to his left, which was an alternative route to the docks. Course, he had to consider the fact that she probably had no idea where she was going and might have taken the path on his right, which only lead deeper into the woods.

He expelled an irritated breath, feeling the pressure of time's tick pushing down on him. He grunted and hastily decided on the opening to his left. If she had gone back to the ball, he could always go back and find her there. But he wasn't sure he'd ever see her again if she made her departure by sea. He started towards the opening but halted as he spied something on the ground. He frowned and made his way to it, crouching in the grass, and collected it in his hand to discern what it was.

He never ended up traveling down the path that could have possibly led him back to her. In the grass there, besides the marble fountain of stone cherubs, he'd realized that the wind was stronger than he was. It blew harder, moved faster, and took her farther than he'd ever be able to reach. But it also left trails, marked tracks, and fluttered loose feathers about for him to find. And so it was in his hand that he held the greatest, most distinctive feather of all...a red glass slipper.

"SO," CARLY GRINNED giddily. "How was it, my lady?

Elizabeth heaved a huge sigh of relief as she finally stepped into her own carriage, finally on her way back home for the night. At the same time, she muffled a sheer cry of grief as she hoisted herself into a plush seat in the carriage besides Carly, her feet aching and her heart even worse as a deluge of memories from the night's rushed into her mind. They took a toll on her strength and energy, draining her and left her completely unequipped to deal with the assailing thoughts and images flowing through her mind.

Leaning herself heavily against the comfy seat, she grew overwhelmed with gratitude for the cushion and warmth of the carriage, and almost forgot to adjust the hem of her dress. She needed to be careful of hiding her feet from Carly who was sure to ask questions about the events that had caused her to lose Sarah's shoe. Course, she could lie and say something like, it shattered, after all, it was made of glass. But the captivating remembrances of her night on Wyndemere were sure to lace through her lies and had the power to send her crumbling into a rough, cold river of grief.

But for tonight, just for tonight, she didn't want to swim in that river. She didn't want to worry, or cry or panic or hate herself for all the decisions she'd made in her life. She just wanted to leave Wyndemere in peace and settle back into her life as best as she could.

"It was fine, Carly," She replied. "Just fine."

The eager smile fell from Carly's face at that and she rapped the roof of the coach, signaling the driver to move away from the night. Elizabeth cast one last glance across the waters to the island where she'd gotten herself so tangled and lost. Somehow she'd managed to escape that jungle, only, of course, at the loss of her shoe. But as the carriage moved further and further away and got closer and closer to her home, she felt the vines of the jungle pull at her limbs, pinching into her skin as though she never really left at all.

IT APPEARED HIS mood easily stuck out amongst the lively, vivacious crowd of the Wyndemere ballroom. Not a person in the room knew grief, not a soul could be expected to be unhappy with the way the people danced and laughed and shouted in merriment about theglistening hall. Yet, Jason's face remained sober as he re-entered the rampant scene, arriving through the same pair of French doors he had exited from earlier, and remembering exactly why it was he had left.

He grimaced, the amount of people had tripled and now the hall was tightly packed with swarms of people he was expected to meet. Jason watched as the lake of bodies dipped and swayed, roared and jeered, swallowing each other in gaiety. He had no desire to dive into the madness yet it had all been cultivated for him.

He couldn't have even found a person if he tried. All the different people, all the different

colors, ran together, leaving no lines for him to tell the difference of one person from another. He sighed and looked to the red on his hands, grateful that he had this sparking piece to find the woman he was looking for. He thought it was a rather unique shoe, there couldn't be too many women in England who had it, but then again, he didn't know much about English fashion. He'd have to ask Nikolas, if he could ever find him again, whether it was custom for the women of England to don glass footwear

He hoped it was just the opposite and that so few women wore it and could only call upon a particular person they'd seen such a style on before. He remembered the lady she'd been fighting with before he'd danced with her. Would she have seen her wear them before? If he remembered correctly, one of Nikolas's friends had referred to her by name. Maybe, she wasn't as dim as they thought and could help him in his pursuit.

He felt eyes on him and glanced up to find that quite a few strangers were regarding him oddly. He bit back a chuckle and slipped the slipper into his pocket. It was small and dainty and barely made a ruffle in his pant. It was ridiculous really the lengths he was going to, he'd regard himself oddly too.

"Mr. Morgan," he heard. Jason swung around with deep dread; he couldn't stand to hear anymore praises and thanks for his actions.

"Yes," he turned and acknowledged the man but to his surprise found that it was Zander, Nikolas's friend. Zander was another one who didn't belong at the ball; he appeared troubled and distressed, leering to another part of the room, his quintessence skittish.

"I'm sorry tae be intruding on yer evening," He said in his thick brogue. "But we're in desperate need o' yer help."


End file.
